My sister is coming home next week, and I’m terrified. That is to say, I’m not exactly in touch with my emotions. I could be either excited or afraid. My body is certainly reacting; my stomach is upset and I have issues concentrating on being productive. Of course, this happens regularly, but I’m fairly sure it’s worse now. Enough that earlier today, my boss felt the need to “talk to me about it in private”, which is always good fun.
I sigh. She is taking her good time answering my last text. 
It’s been too long. I can’t wait to see you. <3
I put the phone back in my pocket, trying to avoid thinking about whether the heart was too much.
Summer is making its flurry of deep green leaves and soothing heat as I move up the driveway to what isn’t a mansion as such, but a house large enough that I’m positive I wouldn’t be able to afford it in a thousand years. It belongs to my “stepfather”, Bryce Callaghan. When I think of him, I imagine a top hat and a monocle, but to my disappointment, I’ve never seen him wear either. My mother has taken his surname and is no longer “Daisy King”, self-evidently a downgrade by miles.
I feel like a stranger whenever I visit, which I do more often than I imagine other boys my age would, once out of their parents’ clutches. Bryce thinks I’m a “good son”. In reality, my mother has a perfect understanding of the extent of my needs. That masturbation alone doesn’t help my concentration.
Mother and I will be alone today. They keep a servant, but he has today off. Bryce is on a business trip, which happens delightfully often. It means we don’t have to be covert at all. Taking risks is exciting and all, but the dumb self-help guide some guy online told me to read dictates that I should take it easy instead.
As I reach the door, I punch in the security code and let myself in.
I slouch down the hall, hands in my pockets. “Mom!” I call out as I hang my denim jacket. “I’m here.” My nose catches a scent. She’s making spinach puffs; something I’ve always been crazy for, since that one movie.
She bursts out the kitchen door, still wearing oven mitts. Her tail brushes and sweeps, her ears perk, as to say the sight brings her comfort. “Hi, sweetheart!” As she is about to embrace me, she stops a moment, looks at the mitts, and rolls her eyes, as if she forgot they were there.
We embrace regardless, and I hold her close. My hands dig into her body and find their way down her hips, onto her rear. Once upon a time, my face would almost be between her breasts in this position. Now I’m taller than her. I feel them against my shirt. But something is… different. They are harder.
I step back and look her up and down.
“Did… did you get new tits?”
She puts her hands in her side. “I figured you’d notice first thing, you horndog.”
I step in and put my hands against them. My mother rolls her eyes as I feel at them as if it was the first time I had a pair of breasts between my hands. They’re not that different, but the shape is definitely more defined, and they’re not as soft as the rest of her. “Was that really necessary?”
“Eh,” she says. “Bryce insisted on paying for them. And it’s not like I’m young enough that I need to keep my body sacred.”
It’s sacred to me. “Hmmm,” I muse, considering whether I’m disappointed or intrigued. On one hand, I don’t like the thought that she at all needs to try to be beautiful. On the other, fake tits make one look like a right slut, so I think I might be able to indulge. “Show them to me.”
“Hey now,” she says, leaning forward. “Don’t talk to you mother like that, young man. Ask nicely.”
“Show them to me, whore.”
She gasps, as if overly affronted. She takes off the oven mitts and sets them aside. “You will owe me for this.” She snorts, but she smiles as she pulls up her top and bra and her new tits fall out, not as decisively as I’m used to. She’s in the middle of her forties; now that I think of it, they’ve been hanging lower, heavy as they are. Now, they’re resisting. Perky; a curving surface, throwing off a silky shine.
“My…” I say, reaching for them. “They’re like balloons.” I touch them, and I feel at her fur, that’s suddenly strained and firm, like the flank of a horse.
She huffs. “Hardly, you’ve just never seen them outside of porn.”
“Well, they’re exactly like I imagined them.”
“Oh really,” she says, faintly trailing off as I push them together, malleable still. “What have you been imagining?”
I hum to myself, sorting out one of my lesser used fantasies. “Film-crew brings you and a handful of hung guys to the poolside. Skimpy swimsuit. Hot-pink lipstick and eye-shadow. Fake lashes. They coat the tits in cum, and the eye-liner smears from you being slapped around.” I lean in and run my tongue over one of her breasts. She shivers.
“Oh… You’re making me regret not becoming a porn star.”
“Why didn’t you?” I lift her nipple to my mouth put my lips to it.
“Oh, that’s no way raising kids.” As I bite gently, I hear her suck air through her teeth. “And by now it’s too late to dabble in new careers.”
Yeah, raising your kids went swimmingly, I’d say. “Never too late,” I mutter, glancing up. “I guarantee you, there’s a market.”
She runs her hand through my hair. “We can get into the amateur category. ‘Son impregnates mom’. And no-one will believe it.”
Ah, yes.  My dick is reacting as expected. If I actually did impregnate her, these puppies would actually have milk for me. I gasp as I pull away. It would be outright anticlimactic if I came in my pants, standing in the hallway. “I’d love to, but I have a friend who spends entire nights in that category. Do we want to take the risk?” I want to. But should we?
“You don’t think he’d pat your back?” She slurs her voice, knowing exactly what she’s doing. “Get an insatiable desire to join in?”
I cough reverently, trying to get a hold of myself. “I…”
“Want to try them out?” she ask as she pushed them together and arcs her neck and tail as a slashing sabre. “You’ll be the first.”
I breathe in as deep as my lungs can handle. Another scent draws at me. “Would be a crime to say no to that. But… it would also be a shame to let the food sit and get cold. We have all day.”
She pinches my cheek. “Such a responsible boy. We’ll make a man of you yet. The food is done, be a sweetheart and go take it out of the oven. I’ll go… doll myself up.”
As she winks at me and shows teeth in a devilish smirk, all I can think is God, how well she knows me.