Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch.4 Home Loving (A)

A few days later…

The Miyazaki household was wrapped in the vague calm of the mid-morning lull. A faint scent of cooked eggs still lingered, the latest breakfast offering. The apartment was small but meticulously kept, with the signs of happiness here and there. A few items from places they travelled together, pictures of shared memories, to name but a few.

In the living room, the second-year university student, Yumi, lounged on the blue couch, her bare feet tucked beneath her, absentmindedly twirling her hair with one pale finger. She had a truly striking figure—her voluptuous curves softened youthful plumpness, her skin glowing with the effortless radiance of someone who hadn’t yet been worn down by the world. 

Today, she’d opted for simplicity: her hair pulled into two low pigtails, a style that framed her pretty face and made her look younger, almost innocent. She wore a loose, oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone, and a pair of faded denim shorts that hugged her thick thighs. Her dark eyes flicked toward the hallway, where the faint sound of shuffling feet signaled Hayao’s approach.

Hayao emerged from his room with a theatrical cough, his hand pressed to his forehead as if warding off a fever that didn’t exist. His dark hair was tousled, his lean frame clad in a simple T-shirt and sweatpants—casual, unassuming, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed the truth. He wasn’t ill; he was scheming, just like Yumi, who had ditched her university lectures for the day. They’d both carved out this stolen time, a secret shared between them, hidden beneath layers of excuses.

“Still feeling bad?” his sister said innocently, her voice light but laced with a knowing edge. She patted the cushion beside her, inviting him to sit.

Hayao sank onto the couch, his shoulder brushing hers as he leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, think I’m coming down with something,” he said, his tone dripping with false sincerity. “Probably best if I stay home.”

Yumi smirked, nudging him with her elbow. “Uh-huh. Sure. And I’m just too tired to sit through another boring lecture.” Her gaze lingered on him, warm and conspiratorial, before she glanced toward the hallway. “Mom’s still here, though. She’s getting ready to go out.”

As if on cue, the soft click of heels echoed from the entrance, drawing their attention. Their mother, Mai, stood before the mirror by the front door, her reflection a study in elegance and quiet strength. At thirty-six, she was a woman who had aged like fine wine—her figure, much like Yumi’s, was curvy, but honed by years of discipline. Where Yumi carried the softness of youth, Mai’s body was sculpted by the gym, her waist nipped in, her hips flaring out in a way. Her breasts, slightly larger than her daughter’s thanks to giving birth twice, strained against the tailored fabric of her black blouse, the top two buttons left undone to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. Her permed, dyed blonde hair cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the light like spun gold. Dark eyes, sharp and perceptive, were framed by long lashes, and her full lips were painted a deep, sultry red.

Mai’s fingers danced over her reflection, adjusting the delicate gold necklace that rested against her collarbone, her movements precise and deliberate. She tilted her head, inspecting her makeup—flawless, as always, with a smoky eye that made her gaze smolder and a touch of blush that highlighted her high cheekbones. There was something almost ritualistic about the way she prepared herself, as if each stroke of the brush, each dab of lipstick, was a quiet act of devotion.

She was going to visit Hayao’s father’s grave today, a pilgrimage she made every year without fail. The weight of that loss still lingered in the house, a shadow that never quite lifted, but his mother carried it with a grace that bordered on defiance. She refused to let grief define her; instead, she poured herself into her appearance, her work, her children—anything to keep the ache at bay.

Yumi and Hayao watched her in silence, their playful energy dimming in the face of their mother’s quiet intensity. Mai caught their reflection in the mirror, her lips curving into a knowing smile. 

“You two look cozy,” she said, her voice smooth and melodic, with just a hint of amusement. “Hayao, if you’re feeling that bad, maybe you should stay in bed.”

Hayao shifted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah, maybe,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

Their mother’s eyes flicked to Yumi, who quickly busied herself with her phone, feigning disinterest. “And Yumi, don’t you have lectures today?”

Yumi shrugged, her pigtails bouncing with the motion. “I’m skipping. Too tired.”

The older woman raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Well, just don’t make a habit of it.” She turned back to the mirror, applying a final swipe of lipstick before capping the tube with a decisive click. “I’m heading out now. Be good while I’m gone, alright?”

“Of course, Mom,” Yumi said, her tone overly sweet, a touch too innocent.

Hayao nodded, his voice a little too eager. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

Mai’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, as if she could sense the undercurrent of their deception, but she said nothing. Instead, she smoothed her hands over her skirt—a sleek, knee-length number that clung to her hips—and grabbed her purse from the hook by the door. 

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” she said, her heels clicking against the floor as she stepped toward the entrance. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The door closed behind her with a soft thud, leaving Yumi and Hayao alone in the sudden, electric silence. Yumi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her body relaxing as the tension ebbed away. She turned to Hayao, her eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Finally,” she murmured, leaning closer, her hand sliding up his thigh. “Now we can really enjoy our day off.”

Hayao’s pulse quickened, his skin tingling under her touch. The air between them crackled with anticipation, the promise of stolen moments and secret pleasures. But even as Yumi’s fingers traced teasing patterns on his leg, his mind drifted back to their mother—her sensual grace, the way her blouse had hugged her curves, the subtle sway of her hips as she walked. There was something magnetic about her, something that lingered in his thoughts long after she’d left the room.

Yumi noticed the faraway look in his eyes and pouted, her hand pausing. “Hey, where’d you go?” she asked, her voice soft but insistent. “You’re supposed to be paying attention to me.”

Hayao blinked, snapping back to the present. “Sorry,” he said, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Just… thinking.”

“About what?” Yumi pressed, her curiosity piqued.

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing important.” But the image of their mother, poised and alluring, refused to fade, stirring something deep within him—a desire he wasn’t ready to name.

Yumi’s pout deepened, but she didn’t push. Instead, she shifted closer, her body pressing against his, her breath warm on his neck. “Well, whatever it is, forget about it,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “We’ve got the whole day to ourselves. Let’s make the most of it.”

Hayao’s heart raced, his body responding to her proximity, her touch. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his lap.

However, the young boy suddenly realized that he wanted the stopwatch always close to him, a tangible link to the strange power it held. 

He pulled away from his sister, muttering, "I have to do something," and darted off to his bedroom. 

There, amidst a clutter of clothes and scattered manga, he dug through a drawer until he found a cherished keepsake from his childhood—a bronze chain, slightly tarnished but still gleaming with the memory of the day he found it as a young boy on the beach. It had been a truly lucky find, half-buried in the sand, glinting under the sun, and he had kept it ever since. He threaded it through the stopwatch’s loop and clasped it around his neck, the cool metal settling against his skin.

When he returned to the living room, his sister glanced up from the couch, her eyes catching on the odd accessory. "What’s with the necklace?" she teased, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, her lips soft and fleeting. "That’s a weird fashion choice, even for you."

Hayao smirked, and without a second thought, reached out and squeezed one of her breasts. She froze, looking down at her chest before meeting his gaze, her cheeks blooming with a faint blush. "You’re unbelievable, little brother," she murmured, her tone caught somewhere between scolding and amusement.

In his mind, Hayao branded her a dirty, incestuous slut, the thought raw but laced with a twisted fondness as he moved to sit down.

She shifted, her movements slow and deliberate, and her voice cut through the stillness like a velvet blade. “So, Hayao,” she purred, her fingers grazing his thigh with a touch so light it burned, “what do you want to do now?” Her words dripped with intent, her gaze locking onto his with a challenge that made his pulse race.

His heart thundered, a wild beat that echoed in his ears as he turned to face her. “I want to fuck,” he said, the confession spilling out raw and unpolished, his voice a low growl that carried every ounce of his longing.

Her eyes flared for a split second, a flush creeping up her neck, but then her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. 

“Oh, really?” she murmured, leaning in until her breath tickled his ear, warm and electric. “I want you to fuck me senseless, Hayao. I want to feel you everywhere—lose myself in you completely.” Her nails pressed into his thigh through his sweatpants, a subtle claim that sent a shiver straight to his core. “But,” she added, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I want something too.”

His breath hitched, curiosity and need twisting together in his chest. “What?” he rasped, hanging on her every syllable as the air thickened around them.

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her gaze softening with a raw, unguarded want. “Call me by name like a lover,” she said, her words steady yet laced with yearning. “And when we cum together, shout it—let it fill this room, let it be the last thing I hear as I break apart.”

Her request hit him like a spark to tinder, igniting a blaze that roared through his veins. It was intimate, a thread of connection that wove their bodies into something more, a forbidden sweetness he couldn’t resist. His cock strained against the fabric, a throbbing ache that demanded action, and he nodded, his voice thick. “Okay, Yumi. I’ll do it.”

Her smile warmed, a flicker of affection mingling with hunger as she reclined back, spreading her legs wide in a bold, unashamed invitation. Her sweater rode up, exposing the soft curve of her belly, while her shorts stretched tight, outlining her pussy and asshole in a way that made his mouth go dry. 

Option 1: Hayao decides to take his sister’s incestuous pussy.

Option 2: Hayao decides to take his sister up her asshole.