As tempting as slipping on Tina might be, you already have plans. Jessica will wonder why you slipped into your older sister when you were aiming for your mother in the first place. You already neutralized her; all that remains is to zap your mom and steal some time as her.
You move out after closing Tina’s door, seeing Jessica speaking with your mother on the living room. You stay upstairs, observing how she’s handling everything. “...been a little down these days. I’m just so glad Claire’s always been there to help her.”
“Help who on what?” you say as you step down.
“Oh!” Jessica exclaims, gesturing just as her mother. “I was just telling your mother how good of a friend you’ve been to Katherine.”
“Well, she’s my friend, after all.” You hide the black pen behind your arm, ready to deploy in an instant. “Hopefully Missus Hunt hasn’t been boring you, Mom.”
“Oh, no! It’s always a pleasure to have Denise pay a visit.”
“Hey - you know what she told me on the way?” You draw nearer, and Jessica eyes you suspiciously. “You should hang out with her – y'know, go around the city. You’re always holed up on here.”
“It’s alright, sweetie. Tina hates cooking, and I don’t think your father or your brother will want to take that responsibility.”
Knowing Dad, he’ll probably ask for delivery. And I barely know how to cook a burger, let alone a casserole!
“I’ll have to pass on it, sadly.”
“But Mom!” You approach even closer, your dominant hand out of sight. “You work so hard! You need some rest, you don’t know when you might faint.”
“Claire! I appreciate your concern, but I’m not overworked! I feel absolutely fine.”
“You sure?” You point the pen at your mother, clicking it. “It can be when you least expect it.”
Jessica gasps, but as your mother has deflated halfway, she starts to laugh. “Wow! That was cold! But creative, I’ll admit.”
“She’ll need an excuse for when she wakes up.”
“Oh yeah, right...” She approaches your mother’s husk, grabbing her. “Y’know, I get why Mom envies yours.”
“She envies her? How?”
“She says she looks younger.” She points at her face, around her eyes, then your mother’s “No wrinkles.”
“I barely saw them on your mom until we did it.”
“Well, Mom hates the wrinkles, and she wonders why your mom doesn’t have them. She thinks it must be because she’s not trying to be slim.”
Jessica’s right about that one. Your mother isn’t overweight but she’s not as slim as Mrs. Hunt, let alone Trish’s mother who’s a marathon runner. (She’s leaner than Jimmy’s mother, though.) Perhaps that is because her hips and breasts look large even when deflated.
“Claire says Mom’s well-distributed in the right places.”
She looks at you, amused. “David, you think Claire’s probably on the closet?”
“Nah,” you riposte with confidence. “Claire’s just jealous of chesty girls because she’s flat-chested. Why do you think I was motorboating you after I wore her?”
“I’m just saying, since she’s way too obsessed with how girls look. She’s got a type.”
“I can tell you her type. It’s Scottie Kilmeade.”
“I’ve seen the kid. He’s kinda like Jimmy but sorta better looking.”
You snap at her. “What?”
“I mean, he’s not pudgy and bald, right?” Your look finally makes her realize her faux-pas. “Oh. David, you know I don’t relate a lot with him because he’s always making passes to me, but--”
“Do I need to remind you that we’ve been screwing around with yourself as your mom? Cut him some slack – yeah, he can be immature at times, maybe a bit desperate, but treating him as worthless doesn’t help!”
“Doesn’t make it any better when he hits on me, but you’re right.” She shakes her borrowed shirt – and breasts – and snickers. “I guess I’m no different.”
“And I haven’t called you on that, no?”
“Well, you’re doing the same.”
“Exactly. Takes moments like this to truly know each other.” You’re shocked that this felt so deep. You follow your words with a kiss on her lips. “We’ve all got our secrets, babe.”
“You’re so right.” She returns the gesture with another kiss. “So, you’re gonna wear her here or...?”
“Upstairs,” you tell her. You glance at the kitchen, specifically at the stove. “Mom must’ve been preparing for dinner, right?”
“I noticed she was cutting some vegetables.”
“I’ll have to store them, then. And maybe take a shower so I can change into something more fitting – I don’t think I’m gonna go dressed like that,” you say as you point at your mother’s choice of attire.
“Oooh!” she exclaims as she grins. “Hey - can I shower up with you?”
“Maybe after we get a little dirty,” you suggest as you mount up on her. “You couldn’t hold yourself when I put on Claire, after all.”
“I like that thought,” she confesses. “Gonna be so weird to fuck each other as our mothers on her bed.”
“You and I did it on yours.”
“True, but that’s not--”
“And while standing in front of her vanity,” you remind her as well. “How’s that not weird?”
“True.” After a passionate tongue kiss, she shoves your mother’s husk onto you, grinning. “Put her on, babe.”
With a little sway of your sister’s borrowed hips, you tease Jessica as you make your way to your parents’ bedroom. Compared to Mrs. Hunt’s one, theirs looks a bit more crowded – a king-sized bedroom and a large closet and a vanity and a set of drawers with your dad’s underwear and personal stuff – but no less clean. (Your dad is pretty tidy, compared to Nick and you.)
As you separate your mother’s husk from her clothes and start taking off yours, a brush of your fingers on the slit makes you pause. You’ll have to take off Claire. But what if you could carry her along, wearing your mother as the topmost layer? (Her size would probably make this easier.)
You test it by sliding Claire’s leg inside your mother’s. It feels odd, as you feel your sister’s feet dislodge from yours when hers clings to it. You resolve to stretch the skin and adjusting – and immediately, the sensation of having nothing appears. Once you take your mother’s skin up to your legs, you realize she’s squeezing both of you inside easily.
Perhaps the shock of wearing someone has faded away, as you have no reserves at looking at your mother’s naked body. If Claire were doing this, she’d be elated, judging by her mental reaction. Wow. Mom’s got some killer hips! You touch your mother’s rear with Claire’s hands, and she moans. And such a big, round ass! (She berates you when you glance at the bushy groin, though.)
Soon, you lift her upper body, stretching her arms. They’re wide – strong, you prefer – but delicate, though her hands have never known a manicure. As soon as you feel your meager breasts squished into your mother’s melons, you hear Claire almost cry with excitement. Boobs. Big boobs. I got big boobs, Davey!
Correction, you tell her. We have big boobs.
True. You feel moved to cup a feel; it feels exquisite as you squeeze. You think it must be all the milk-sucking, for she has huge areolas (thanks, Claire, for the reminder!) and big nipples, sagging downward from gravity and age. They’re soft and round, and it only takes a bra to make them delectable, securing that wide hourglass figure you’ve seen her sporting all your life.
All that’s left is the face, you tell yourself. Ready, Claire?
Ready! She exclaims, her nagging fading away. You stretch your mother’s head over Claire’s hair, the tear expanding and contracting until it swallows it whole. You look at yourself on the mirror and inhale deeply.
Your mother is beautiful in a homely way, a Venus hiding within the paupers. She’s the archetype from which Tina and Claire (and yourself, too) emerged, and you can notice what each of you took from her.
She’s got light hair – ash blonde, contrasting your father’s dark auburn – up to her shoulders, straight and messy. She’s not as slim as Mrs. Hunt, with a very taut layer of fat surrounding her belly, but she’s got curves for days. She’s also got a youthful face, devoid of wrinkles, like that of a cherub. And she’s got lovely green eyes that none of you fully inherited, in contrast to her tender smile.
“Marie!” you hear from behind, shaking you. You notice Mrs. Hunt is observing you with a placid look. “You were hiding all that?”
“Denise!” you respond, using her first name. “You scared me.”
“I was getting bored waiting downstairs, so I had to check you up.” She approaches you from behind, pushing her breasts into your back. “And I have no regrets doing so. You look marvelous for your age, my dear.”
“That would be like praising you – we're contemporaries!”
“Hardly,” she reveals. “I’m three years younger, honey – but if anyone saw us, they’d claim otherwise.” She turns around, staring your front. “I feel jealous – how the hell does your mom have a better body than mine?”
“I dunno. Genetics, I guess?” (Does that mean I’m gonna get stacked? You hear Claire question in your mind.)
“I suppose. Anyways...” Jessica snaps back into a more mature, if lustful, behavior. “I think you said you’d promise we’d get dirty before taking a bath together, right?”
You grin. “I sure did, didn’t I?” You bring her close and kiss her, your advance uncharacteristic of your own mother. You’re roughly the same height, but you positively tower over her. You rub your lips on her, and soon enough, your tongues intertwine, your bodies heating up.
But as soon as you start cuddling – with Jessica grabbing your mother’s rear tightly – you hear something that could ruin your plans. The worst threat to them, in fact.
“Marie? You home?”
It’s your father. Why would he be here so early?
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