Aquamarine Interlude: Troubled Homelife

"I'm home." Marine lets out a long tired wail, as she fumbles with her heels. The task way more troublesome than it has right to be. She lets out a quick moan when a knee stabs her in the chest. This is the price of having giant attention stealers, she thinks with a ghost of amusement.

She lifts her head to look down the hall, holding a hand out to stir the smoky air between her fingertips thoughtfully. The smell confirms her parent's presence. Marine's lips parts, to call again but she seals them shut. Fat chance they would answer anyway.

Her purse and the gift from Miss Applejack sway in tandem with the sway of her hips as she makes her way to the living room. She sighs deeply seeing the mess. Glasses with an unidentified liquid gathered on the table, partly drunk, partly spilled. A pizza box laying on the floor, only one slice left, and a pair of pants she hasn't seen before greasing in the leftovers. The whole room has clothes scattered around.

Sigh. It's good to be home, Aqua thinks, picking up a loose, black and purple shirt.

"At least, they don't do it in the living room." She grumbles, cleaning up her mothers' mess. Last time, they accidentally broke the table. Sigh, this is what her life is like. Try to get a night of sleep, go to school, and come back to see them going at it, or being left all alone. No matter which option it was on her to clean and cook. Frankly, she had learned to appreciate the second option, but also to not count on it. A better way to spend her free time's to go to the park or stay at school, catch a hunk, and have a good time on her own.

Her movement stops, then looks at her elegant hands, covered in semi-valuable jewerly, hovering over her fake-looking tits.

...she really is like them, isn't she?

Barely the realization hits when an audible click of doors opening can be heard. Wet sounds follow accompanied by a rhythmic cracking of the wood.

"Ohh, you're back." A raspy voice notes, so casually it hurts. One of her mothers, Turf; a somewhat heavy woman of impossible to determinate age. Despite the clear signs of sagging she retains a certain level of firmness, in all the right ares, though less from a workout a more because of strategically spaced fat. Mommy Turf has a sweet tooth and rarely holds herself from indulging it. Her large hairdo is set loose and plastered to her back and shoulder. The only reason she would allow her hair fall like this would be a pool party or steamy intercourse with a beefcake or two.

Yup. really like them.

"It was fine. Nice people. Very responsible." Marine answers bitterly, shooting her a dirty look. The blonde woman doesn't notice, more focused on a bottle lying on the floor. "Could have told you sooner, if you came to pick me up. Like you two promised."

Turf opens her mouth to give some half-baked excuse when a high-pitched moans reverberate through the air. The pleasured gasps begin to mingle words like 'more' and 'so big' that follow, soon enough. Marine's ears perk up, nipples almost piercing the thin textile of her dress. Growing up in a house of sexually defiant bisexuals was hard for a budding bimbo like her. It's even harder when she has to be the mature one.

The attention of the older woman focus back on the action happening somewhere behind her. That slut Surf me be getting double-teamed. Without her!

She pouts and shrugs. "Like, me and Surf had to hit the beach, with totes rad weather like today. And some totally hung guys hooked us up on the beach this morning. Grabbed a few drinks, ordered a pizza and, well, you know the rest. " She says as it is a perfectly reasonable justification. Marine's expression doesn't grow any softer. Her pupils dilates within her big aquamarine eyes. "Like, totally would invite you but there's only two of them, so, you know. Not enough meat to feed everyone." She shrugs. "Can you be a pal and, like, sweep the place a bit? I would be very grateful."

Slowly, Marine inhales through her nose. Yeah, they would be grateful, that's the only thing they would do. While they will have fun, she'll have to do the chores. Like a servant. And when she dares to point that one out, they call her a party pooper.

She lets a steamy breath out through her glistening mouth. And if that wasn't enough, her mommies are so unbelievably, maddeningly, infuriatingly, tits-twistingly greedy. They never share. They either blow the guys off at their places, behind bars or whenever they decide to bring guys home, behind the locked doors.

Why? Because she wouldn't find it fun, they say. Do they really think she's that stupid?

They were simply scared their hook-ups would find her more worth the effort than them. Guys are too into her, they believe. Why is SHE so greedy, they think? Why are you such a stick in the ass, they judge. As if it was her fault she was better than them!

It takes her time to register the pain in her palms. Her hands squeeze so hard, nails dig into her flesh almost drawing blood. Her grip loosens, almost dropping her beloved Gift. The present from Miss Applejack. That beautiful, wonderful woman.

An idea takes root in her mind. No. It's less of an idea and more of a calling. A burning need to do the 'right' thing. It grows slowly, accelerating at a neck-brake pace, until its roots take over her body. Marine doesn't try to fight it. Why would she? She can only profit from it.

She drops her purse and reaches to the bag with the presents, then jerks around and throws a large object at the blonde. "Catch." She says calmly, almost giddily.

On instinct, The older Woman catches the elongated object, simultaneously dropping the bottle. It heaves on her, landing between her tits. She doesn't know what is at first, besides the fact it's long and thick with a bulbous head-

"Where did you get that?" She asks, equally skittish and impressed. This is like, the largest toy ever! Perhaps even larger than any dicks she has ever swallowed.

"Miss Applejack." The vapid woman barely has time to react before being pushed onto the couch. Despite being older and heavier, Marine is still a presence to reckon with. She gasps when the weight of two medicine balls pin her to the furniture and steal her breath.

The ocassion presents itself and Marine takes it.

The Trophy Bimbo pushes a something past the older woman's lips, and in an instant, her mind goes still when the magically infused confectionery melts in her mouth. The taste blows her buds, while the Arcane energy murders her fight-or-flight instincts. From now on, all she can concentrate on are the sweet taste and the girls sitting on her.

"Ohh, you would despise her." Marine begins the process. A box in hand, she picks up a random cookie. "She's like, the biggest, softtst, kindest and most responsible woman, ever." She punctuates every word. Her body works on instinct installed by the alien force. She only has the foggiest understanding of what her actions would entail. Doesn't matter. Whatever happens, it will be desserved. "Everything you're not." She picks up another cookie and pushes it in. "But don't worry." Rainbow-colored cookie. Turf's lips swell, heaving down as if asking for more. "Despite being an uncaring bitch." Three milk chocolate cookies. Breathing becomes harder from the sudden weight on her chest. "I still love you." Another rainbow ones. Thinking becomes harder. "And I'll help you become better." Her fingers lock around a bunch of peach-flowered sweets and present them to the moldable woman. "You know, I always thought your fat ass like a pair of old pillows." She quips, feeling legs spread as the volume of fleash under her expands.

Delicious, she thinks, licking the residue from her fingertips. She looks inside the box.

So many flavours to pick from. She's not worried about the time. When fucking Mommy Surf completely forgets about the world. You could accuse her of many things, but never of poor stamina. She'll deal with her later. Maybe even tomorrow. But now- "Eenie, meenie, minie- stiff one. Open wide." Aquamarine orders and the soon-to-be-perfect-mother obeys.