Chapter 5: Family Business
**Chapter 5**
The kitchen was a furnace of oil and garlic, the late-night cleanup after another packed dinner service. Sofia leaned over the prep table, her massive ass straining the seams of her tiny black shorts, cheeks spilling out like risen dough. She wasn’t supposed to be in here—not dressed like that, not with her bare thighs pressed against the stainless steel, not with the way she kept glancing over her shoulder at John with those heavy-lidded eyes.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, dragging a fingertip along the table’s edge.
John wiped his hands on his apron, his cock already thickening at the sight of her, at the memory of what they’d done at the resort. The way she’d taken him, the way she’d screamed. He stepped closer, his palms landing on the shelf of her hips, fingers sinking into the soft overflow. “You’re fucking begging for it.”
Sofia giggled, the sound rich and throaty, and pushed back against him. “Maybe I am.”
He didn’t hesitate. He yanked her shorts down, the fabric snapping against the meat of her thighs before pooling at her knees. Her ass was bare now, two vast, jiggling moons, the cleft between them glistening already with her slick. He spat into his palm, stroked his length—already half-hard just from looking at her—then lined himself up.
“Fuck me, Johnny,” she breathed, pressing her chest flat against the table, her tits spilling out of her low-cut tank top. “Hard.”
He drove into her with one brutal thrust.
Sofia shrieked, her hands scrambling for purchase on the slick metal as her body absorbed the invasion. He was huge—21 inches of thick, veined cock splitting her open—and she whimpered, her cunt fluttering around him, struggling to adjust. But then she pushed back, greedy, her ass rippling with the force of his next thrust.
“Yes—oh God, yes!” Her voice cracked as he set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into the wobbling flesh of her rear. The sound was obscene—wet, slapping skin, Sofia’s high, keening cries, the table rattling under their combined weight.
John gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers vanishing into the softness. He fucked her like he owned her, because he did. He’d fed her, shaped her, made her into this—this obscene, voluptuous creature who couldn’t get enough of him.
“You love this, don’t you?” he growled, pulling her hair to arch her back. “Love being my fat little slut.”
“Yes!” she sobbed, her tits swaying violently with every thrust. “Fuck, I love it—love you—”
The kitchen door swung open.
Maria stood frozen in the doorway, her chef’s jacket stretched tight across her monumental chest, her dark eyes wide. For a heartbeat, no one moved. John was still buried to the hilt inside Sofia, her body clenched around him, dripping.
Then Maria locked the door behind her.
“M-Mama—” Sofia gasped, but Maria wasn’t looking at her. She was staring at John’s cock, at the way it disappeared into her daughter’s dripping cunt, at the sheer vulgarity of it.
Slowly, deliberately, Maria unbuttoned her jacket. Underneath, she wore nothing but a black lace bra, her tits spilling over the cups, her belly a soft, rounded curve above the waistband of her tight slacks.
“All this time,” she murmured, stepping closer, her voice low and rough. “All this time, my son’s been fucking his sister… and not his mother.”
John didn’t pull out. He kept Sofia speared on him, his grip tightening as Maria approached, her hips swaying, her scent—warm jasmine and sweat—filling the cramped kitchen.
Maria cupped Sofia’s face, tilting it up to meet her gaze. “You don’t mind sharing, do you, bambina?”
Sofia’s lips parted, her breath hitching as John gave a slow, deliberate thrust. “N-No, Mama.”
Maria smiled. Then she reached behind her back, unclasped her bra, and let it fall.
Her tits were magnificent—heavy, pendulous, the nipples dark and pebbled. She grabbed one, squeezing, her other hand slipping into her slacks. When she pulled her fingers free, they glistened.
“Your turn, figlio,” she purred, stepping around the table, her hips brushing against his side. “Don’t make your mother beg.”
John exhaled sharply, his cock twitching inside Sofia. He withdrew slowly, Sofia whining at the loss, then turned to face Maria.
She was taller than him by two heads, her body a lush, mature contrast to Sofia’s ripe softness. He reached for her slacks, yanking them down, revealing thick thighs and a thatch of dark curls, already soaked.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Maria smirked, gripping his chin. “Language.” Then she pushed him back against the table, her hand wrapping around his cock, her grip firm. “But yes. Fuck me.”
She climbed onto the table, her ass spreading across the stainless steel, her legs parting. John didn’t hesitate. He stepped between her thighs, lined himself up, and shoved in.
Maria’s head fell back, a guttural moan tearing from her throat as he filled her. “Cristo—!” Her cunt was tighter than Sofia’s, hotter, her walls clamping down like a vise. She was older, experienced, and she rolled her hips, taking him deeper, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Behind him, Sofia whimpered. “Johnny—I need you—”
He glanced back. Sofia was on her knees now, her fingers working between her legs, her lips parted, her eyes glazed with need.
Maria noticed too. She grinned, breathless. “Go on,” she panted. “Give her what she wants.”
John pulled out of Maria just enough to reach back, grabbing Sofia by the hair and dragging her forward. “Suck,” he ordered.
Sofia moaned, her mouth opening, her tongue darting out to lick the length of him, still wet from Maria. Then she took him in, her lips stretching obscenely around his girth.
Maria watched, her own fingers moving between her legs, rubbing lazy circles as her son’s cock disappeared into her daughter’s mouth. “Dio mio,” she breathed. Then she grabbed John’s hips, pulling him back into her.
He groaned, thrusting into Maria’s slick heat as Sofia sucked him, her tongue working the underside, her hands kneading his ass. The rhythm was filthy—deep into Maria, then sliding free for Sofia to worship, back and forth, until the kitchen was filled with the sounds of wet, open-mouthed kisses, skin slapping skin, and the women’s overlapping moans.
Maria came first. Her back arched, her cunt spasming around him as she shuddered, her thighs clamping down. “Fuck—fuck, John—!”
Sofia whimpered around his cock, her own fingers working furiously between her legs, her hips jerking as she chased her release.
John couldn’t hold back. He pulled out of Maria’s trembling cunt, turned, and shoved Sofia onto her back on the floor. Her legs fell open, her pussy glistening, swollen. He mounted her in one rough movement, slamming home.
Sofia screamed, her nails raking down his back as he pounded into her, her tits bouncing with every brutal thrust. Maria watched from the table, her fingers still tracing lazy circles over her clit, her lips parted in awe.
“Come inside her,” Maria urged, her voice thick with want. “Fill your sister up, John.”
That was all it took. With a ragged groan, John buried himself deep and erupted, his cum flooding Sofia’s cunt in hot, pulsing ropes. Sofia thrashed beneath him, her own orgasm crashing over her, her walls milking him dry.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their panting breaths, the hum of the cooler, the faint drip of sauce from a pan.
Then Maria slid off the table, her bare feet hitting the floor. She cupped John’s face, kissed him deeply, then leaned down to press a kiss to Sofia’s sweaty forehead.
“Next time,” she murmured, “we use the dining room table.”