Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch4. Family Problems (II)

Hayao pushed open the apartment door. The living room glowed with soft sunlight, filtering through sheer curtains and painting the space in warm gold. He slipped off his shoes, aligning them by the entrance, and let his backpack thud to the floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender, probably from one of Yumi’s candles.

“Yumi, you here?” he called, voice echoing slightly.

“Yeah, in here,” came her reply, lazy and muffled from the living room.

He stepped inside and stopped dead. Yumi sprawled across the couch, legs dangling over the armrest, her body sunk into the cushions. She wore nothing but an oversized T-shirt, the kind that dwarfed her frame and slipped off one shoulder. The shirt was white, emblazoned with a cartoon cat and the words “Naps Are Life” in bold pink letters. But what hit Hayao like a punch was the absence of a bra. The thin fabric clung to her, outlining the heavy, pendulous swell of her breasts. They shifted with every breath, full and unrestrained, the faint shadow of her nipples pressing against the cotton.

Hayao’s throat went dry. Yumi was stunning—always had been—with her smooth, creamy skin and the gentle curve of her hips. But her breasts were something else entirely: lush, voluptuous mounds that seemed to defy gravity even as they hung with a natural, tantalizing weight. Like his mothers. The sight sent a surge of heat through him, his pulse quickening, his cock twitching in his pants.

She glanced up from the TV, where a game show blared, and raised an eyebrow. “You okay? You’re staring.”

He swallowed hard, forcing a nod. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Poor baby,” she teased, stretching languidly. The motion made her shirt ride up, exposing a sliver of her midriff and lifting her breasts higher. “Come watch this with me. It’s dumb, but it’s funny.”

Hayao hesitated, torn. He should leave, retreat to his room, shake off this forbidden rush. But his feet moved anyway, drawn to the couch. He sank beside her, the cushions dipping, and tried to focus on the screen. Some contestant was guessing the price of a blender, but all he could see was Yumi—her bare legs, the soft jiggle of her chest as she laughed.

His hand brushed his pocket, fingers grazing the stopwatch. It was old, scratched, a relic he’d found in the stupid tunnel, but its power was real: one click, and time froze. He’d tested it before, small things—pausing a bird mid-flight, stopping a clock. Now, it burned against his thigh, whispering possibilities. Guilt gnawed at him—she was his sister and family. Yet the desire was louder, drowning out reason.

With a shaky breath, he pulled it out and pressed the button. The world stilled. The TV froze on a grinning host, the hum of the fan died, and Yumi sat motionless, her head tilted back, lips parted in mid-laugh. Her chest was still, her breasts poised like an offering.

Hayao stood, trembling, and moved closer. His hands hovered over her shirt, then grasped the hem. He lifted it slowly, peeling it up and off, revealing her bare torso. Her breasts spilled free—round, heavy, impossibly soft-looking, with rosy nipples that hardened in the cool air. They swayed slightly as the shirt came off, their weight mesmerizing, their curves begging to be touched.

His breath hitched, arousal overtaking him. He fumbled with his belt, unzipping his pants, his cock springing free—hard, throbbing, desperate. He stepped closer, cupping her breasts with reverent hands. They were warm, pliant, filling his palms as he pressed them together. The sensation was electric, her skin silk against his.

He spat onto her chest, the saliva glistening as it slid between her breasts, a crude but effective lube. Positioning himself, he slid his cock into the tight valley he’d created, groaning at the friction. Her tits enveloped him, their softness cradling his length as he thrust. He squeezed them tighter, fingers sinking into the flesh, and spat again, easing the glide.

Pleasure built fast, each stroke pushing him closer to the edge. He stared at her frozen face—pretty, serene, her eyes half-closed, unaware of his violation. Her breasts bounced with his rhythm, a sight so erotic it seared into his brain. With a final, shuddering thrust, he came, thick ropes of cum erupting across her chest and face. It splattered over her tits, dripping down her chin, marking her in the stillness.

He didn’t clean her up—couldn’t bring himself to erase the evidence of what he’d done. The sight of his release still glistening on her skin fueled a dark hunger within him, one that the stopwatch seemed to amplify with every passing second. It wasn’t just a tool; it was a corrupting force, whispering promises of more, urging him to push further into the abyss of his desires.

Youth was on his side, his body quick to recover from the exertion. Already, he felt the stirrings of arousal returning, his pulse quickening as he gazed at Yumi’s still form. 

Methodically, he strips her naked. The young boy opened her up like an early Christmas present.

Her presence, so familiar yet now so alien in this timeless void, sparked an idea—a need that clawed at him relentlessly. He stepped closer, his breath shallow, and reached for her hand. Her fingers hung limp, unresisting, as he guided them to his hardening shaft. Wrapping her delicate hand around him, he began to move, using her as a masturbatory aid. The strokes started slow, deliberate, but the surreal thrill of her unawareness drove him faster, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the sensation.

It wasn’t enough. The stopwatch pulsed in his other hand, its rhythm syncing with the pounding of his heart, and a darker urge took root. He wanted her mouth—her throat. Releasing her hand, he positioned himself in front of her, his arousal trembling just inches from her slightly parted lips. Gently, almost reverently, he pressed the tip against her mouth, marveling at the warmth that greeted him despite her frozen state. He eased in slowly, savoring the softness, the way her lips yielded to him without protest. The gentleness held for a moment, a fragile pretense of restraint, before something primal snapped within him.

His hips began to move, shallow thrusts giving way to deeper ones as he pushed further into her throat. The sensation was intoxicating, the tightness gripping him in a way that sent shivers racing down his spine. What started as careful exploration devolved into something more bestial, his rhythm growing erratic, driven by a need he could no longer control. The room filled with the sound of his ragged breathing, the faint creak of the floor beneath his shifting weight, as he surrendered to the stopwatch’s intoxicating power.

Hayao’s restraint shattered completely as he repositioned Yumi, laying her back across the coffee table with a roughness that belied his earlier hesitation. The wood groaned under her weight, a faint protest against the scene unfolding atop it. He climbed over her, aligning himself with her mouth once more, his arousal now fully engorged and demanding release. With a guttural sound, he thrust back into her throat. He thrust again, deeper this time, the angle allowing him to press further until his balls brushed against her nose. At the same time, he started mangling her beautiful breasts still slick with his cum. The obscene contact only fueled his frenzy, each movement more forceful than the last.

Wanting to use both hands, he placed the stopwatch on the table next to his sister. Its ticking was silent, yet omnipresent, a constant reminder of the power that had corrupted him. His hips pistoned relentlessly, the rhythm brutal and unyielding, as he pounded into her. The warmth of her throat enveloped him, the lack of resistance amplifying the surreal pleasure that coursed through his body. His hands gripped the edges of the table for leverage, knuckles whitening as he drove himself closer to the edge. Sweat beaded on his brow, his breaths coming in sharp gasps, the room a blur of frozen stillness and frantic motion.

The pressure built, a coiled tension that threatened to consume him entirely. With a final, shuddering thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his balls pressed firmly against her face. He came hard, his release flooding her throat in hot, pulsing waves, spilling out around the corners of her mouth as he groaned in primal satisfaction. His body trembled, spent yet electrified, as he lingered there, reluctant to withdraw from the moment.

Slowly, he pulled back, his chest heaving, the stopwatch still warm in his grasp. Yumi remained unchanged, her expression peaceful despite the chaos he’d wrought upon her. The sight stirred something in him—guilt, perhaps, or a flicker of shame—but it was quickly drowned out by the lingering rush of power. The stopwatch whispered to him still, its influence sinking deeper into his mind, promising endless possibilities. And Hayao, ensnared by its spell, knew he wasn’t done—not yet.

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