Not incest

>There you were, as you had always been.
> College was happening, and not being born with a silver spoon meant you were living with your parents, commuting back and forth.
> You were managing, to say the least. Surviving is enough, yes?
> But there you were, spending another day off on the computer.
> But there you were.
> Lying in your bed, pissing away the time on your computer.
> You hear a shout from across the hall, a foreign voice.
> Activate sneak
> It's in your parent's room.
> Well, parent. Dad went and ran his car off a bridge two years ago, but you've all been recovering.
> If not healed, the wounds are scabbed over.
> " Anon! Can you help? "
> Open the door.
> In the bed is not your mother, but a small pastel horse.
> " Anon, pumpkin, I'm in a bit of a mess. "
> It's referring to you like your mother does, but it's a small pastel horse.
> It's hopelessly entangled in the sheets. Evidently it's been thrashing about for a while now.
> Approach with caution. You've got an idea.
> Firmly grasp one leg.
" It looks like I can get you out, but just relax. Fussing won't fix anything. "
> You try and examine the way the joints are as you carefully guide one leg out of the sheets it is entangled.
> A pastel leg ends in a tiny pastel hoof.
> " Oh, pumpkin, I just don't know what's happened. I went to bed, and woke up...this! "
> You don't really have a lot of choices right now.
" We'll get by all right. Always have. "
> Repeat with the other legs and give her your most confident smile.
> You've picked up dogs in the past-she's about the same size and shape as a dog.
> This should be simple enough.
" I'm going to try and get you off the bed. Ready? "
> " Whenever you are, Anon. "
> Arms under, support the head...
> You're carrying her like you once carried your dachshund, before he bit your cousin and you had to shoot him.
> He was a fat dick, and he will not be missed.
> " Anon, pumpkin? Ground, please. "
> You break from your reverie to rotate her hoofy bits towards the floor, to some squealing on her part.
> You set her on them, but you could only dream it would be that easy.
> She promptly takes a tentative step and collapses into a ill balanced pile of pony.
" We're going to be at this for a while, aren't we?"
> " I've been at it for two seconds, give me a moment. "
> Sit on the bed and watch her attempt to stand.
> " So, uh, anon. A little help? "
> She waves her raised butt at you. You avert your eyes from where you imagine her pony vagina would be.
> Go over, place hands under her frontal body and raise.
> She assumes a more pony related form.
> After a few more shaky steps, she confidently trots in a circle.
> " This walking business isn't so hard! "
" Let's see how you manage the stairs. "
> That throws a spanner in her works.
> " You can help me with that, right? I raised a big, strong son for a reason. "
> Smile and pat her on the head.
> Carry her downstairs.
> " First order of business, breakfast. "
> You place her at the kitchen table and begin rummaging about the fridge.
> " This is why I taught you to cook. I taught you to cook, didn't I? "
> She never taught you to cook.
> Prepare cereal
> A level one cooking recipe, but hey.
> Serve it.
> " Anon, I think I might have a bit of trouble with this. "
> Your mother's self sufficient, but she can't manage like this.
> Take up the spoon, scoop up some Ecstatic Rings.
>" Just like when you were a baby. Remember that? "
> Say nothing.
" Say ahh."
> She opens her mouth and you dump in a spoonful of Ecstatic Rings.
> God, her tiny mouth is so cute.
> Repeat the procedure, only spilling a little on her mouth and nose. One Ecstatic Ring lands on her snout, but she reaches up and pushed it into her waiting mouth.
> She surveys her condition and smiles.
> You don't think you've seen her have this much fun in years.
> " So, anon? What now? "
> wipe a bit of milk off of her mouth
> " So, what now? You've got no plans today, and I..."
> She lets the sentence trail off and die.
" What's on TV? "
> You attempt to change the subject.
> Meander into the living room and activate the television.
> Your mother shakily trots in, each step full of concentration and focus.
> She's panting slightly, and shines with a slight luster of sweat.
> " Anonymous, when did our house get so big? "
> plop down on the couch and stretch out.
> Mom moves to the side of the couch and manages to throw her front legs on the couch.
> " Anonymous? "
> Visibly struggling, she shakes her butt. You take that a a 'lift me' request.
> place her next to you on the couch.
> " What's on? "
> Hit guide.
" Absolutely nothing. "
> you can feel her heart through your shirt as she presses into you.
> run a hand along her back
> the fur's so short, you can't imagine it being practical on an animal, much less your mother.
> " you're so warm, anonymous. "
> you're lying down, and she's doing the same while pressed up against your belly.
" I try. "
> your dick gives a slight twinge at the feeling, but you terminate it before it grows into anything noticeable.
> while you're doing this, you begin to hear a slight noise come from your mother.
> look over.
> eyes closed, breathing calm, relaxed.
> she's asleep, mouth opening slightly on the inhale.
> you can watch the chest move in and out.
> well, you're not about to wake her up.
> rest your head and gently toss an arm over her side.
> goodnight, ladies and gentlemen.

> awaken to the feeling of your mother rolling off the couch
> it sounds like a puppy just fell off of your couch.
> The two of you shake off the 'just woke' daze and exchange glances.
> " Well, I guess that's a sign. "
" Morning. "
> Look out the window, maybe a couple of hours have passed.
> you take the opportunity to look at mom.
> her eyes widen.
> the realization hits her like a figurative bombshell.
> It couldn't have been more obvious if she'd screamed it out.
" I'm not helping you poop. Just getting that out there."
> " I wouldn't ask you to. I'm just..going ot go for a walk. "
> Look outside again.
> It's almost pitch black, she is likely to be eaten by a grue.
" It's going to be cold out there. Do you have anything that might fit? "
> She takes a moment to ponder it, then shakes her head.
> " No, I don't think so. Do you have anything I can borrow? "
" I've got a hoodie. "
> " That should work. "
> retrieve hoodie.
> return.
" Let's get this on. It's only going to cover your front, but it's big. You should manage."
> Head in, guide the legs into the arm holes, hood up..
" There. "
> She's snuggly wuggly inside a hoodie.
> flip on the outside lights.
" Think you can make it back? "
> " Anonymous, I'm a grown woman. Grown...this, I mean. "
> Open the door and let her out.
> lounging, waiting for mom to get back from her 'walk'.
> hear a banging on the door.
> investigate
> oh, it's mom.
> " Anonymous, open up. It's cold out here and you need to wash your hoodie. It smells of elderberries. "
> Open the door
> " Well, that's done. "
> You briefly think about checking if she wiped, but you don't feel the need to examine her asshole.
> The TV's still on, so the two of you wander back over to check the news.
> Only one school shooting today, only five died. Typical kid with a automatic rifle.
" Honestly, if you're just going to shoot five kids, why bring an automatic? Doesn't that negate the whole idea of 'I can fire two hundered rounds a minute'?"
> " Anonymous, that's terrible! Just think about those families and how sad they must be! "
> Mom rears up and bonks you on the head with a hoof.
> " I know that I'd be just die if you were to get shot."
> She's tearing up. This is bad.
> Initiate hug.
" I'm not getting shot today. "
> " Hopefully not any day, pumpkin. "
> Change the channel.
> A comical voice announces that this time, Garfield would face his biggest lasagna yet- IN SPACE!
> You feel your brain begin to rot as the theme for Garfield and the Dimensional Rift begins to play.
> " Why don't you play one of your games? You always have fun doing that. "
> That's not a bad idea. Does playing video games while next to someone else count as family time?
> Well, she suggested it.
" As you wish. "
> You rummage around your stack of boxes and pick out a few unfinished ones.
> Do you play
> A, Dark Souls
> B, Oregon Trail
> C, Monster Girl Quest-Playbox editon

B

    > you awkwardly bump the start button of the Xbox while searching, and the screen lights up.
    > draw your head from the confines of the vidya box to see what's in it.
    > Hear an eerie silence, then the digitized tune of 'The Star Spangled Banner'
    > not a bad option.
    > " What's this, Anonymous? Oregon Trail? I played this a few times, at school!"
    " And how did it go? "
    > " Everyone died when the van tipped. "
    " Such is life on the trail. "
    > You exchange knowing nods and assume the controller.
    > You get around to naming your party.
    " Any suggestions? "
    > You prompt her for names.
    > " Name mine Katherine, yours Sweetie, and one... Batman. "
    " Batman? "
    > "Batman."
    > Your party consists of Katherine, Sweetie, and Batman.
    " We've got two more. Should we name one for..."
    > You don't have to finish the sentence to see that it's beginning to unhappy her.
    " ...Noodles? "
    > That was your dick daschund that you shot.
    > " Yeah! Name the last one Pepperoni and Cheese. "
    > That's a rather odd request, but you do it.
    > Katherine, Sweetie, Batman, Noodles, and Pepperoni and Cheese embark.
    > Get the required supplies, but little food. Bullets, because fuck you bufallo.
    > " Aren't you going to get food?"
    " Bullets are lighter, and the little game's the funnest part of this. "
    > " If it's not fun, don't play it. You don't have to do it for me. "
    > She tries to rub your shoulders in a loving way, but she ends up knocking you on the head.
    > " Oh, sorry hun. "
    > Two hooves flood your vision as she lays on your back, with a weight pressing you over slightly.
    > Feel the lightest pressure on the knocked area.
    > " There. Mommy will make it better. "
    " Mooom. "
    > You groan. You're not twelve anymore.
    > Get an idea.

> set down the controller, grab a hoof in each hand.
> suddenly pitch downward like you were attempting to autofellatio, without the dick in your own mouth bit.
> Your reward is a whooping howl as she is heaved into the air, landing on your back with a resounding thud.
> The game is disregarded. Good news, because you've recieved an early gift-as soon as you set out, Batman got a snake bite.
> " Anonymous! Never do that again! "
> Her voice sounds angry, but the laughter she's having to say it through betrays her true feelings.
" Never do what again? This? "
> Suddenly arch your back, then quickly retract it to throw her back up.
> " ANOOON! "
> She lands back on you with a thump.
> " No more! I'm an old woman-I'll break! "
> She manages to sputter it out between eruptions of laughter.
> release her, dumping her onto the couch.
" Don't seem so old to me. "
> Poke her in the belly.
> " I'm an old woman in spirit. "
> She's beginning to calm down.
> Hear a loud gurgling drown out what remnants of laughter she's still expelling.
> Look at her.
> " That's you, hon. "
> Oh, right. You gave Mom breakfast, but didn't get anythign for yourself.
" Let's go have lunch. "
> Mom rolls off of the couch and onto her feet-hooves.
> " Excellent idea. Pizza's in the fridge. Get cooking, sugarlumps. "
> Oh, right. No thumbs, no cooking.
" You really should have taught me to cook beforehand. "
> That draws a smile from her and a playful knock on the knee.
> " Quit your bellyaching, it's not that hard. Your grandmother taught me, and I made it. "
> retrieve the pizza box.
> " You just take the whole thing out, plastic and all. "
" You take the plastic out of the box, or you take the pizza out of the plastic? "
> " Pizza out of the plastic. "
> " Preheat the oven. Temperature's on the box. "
" As you wish. "
> preheat that oven.
> wait.
> ding.
> " Now just slide the pizza on the top rack. No platter or dish, just slap it on there. "
> acquire pizza, approach oven.
> Reach towards oven door handle, but your mother blocks your hand with a hoof.
> " Don't forget an oven mitt. I don't want you to burn yourself. "
> Thankfully she kept the oven mitts on a rack next to the oven.
> Equip one, slide the oven mitt on, slide the pizza onto the rack.
> " And now we wait. Just hit 'cook time' until it's around twenty eight. "
> do that.
" So, I'll be setting the table? "
> Mom smiles at you, brushing your dangling hand with her hoof in a primitive hand hold.
> " Take your time. "