Alaric woke up slowly, his senses swimming in a sea of warmth and a deep, bone-deep, primal satisfaction.
His first sensation: he was still buried balls-deep inside his mother, Lyra. She was dead to the world, her body limp and twitching slightly in the aftermath of her final, shattering climax hours ago. She was hot, slick, and clenched around him even in her exhausted, unconscious sleep.
His second sensation: his left arm was draped over his aunt, Cassandra. She was sprawled over his chest, her massive tits flattened against his ribs, her face slack, a thin line of drool escaping her half-open mouth.
The room stank. It was the thick, musky, animal smell of sex, sweat, and copious amounts of cum. The heavy, crimson drapes in his mother's chamber were still drawn, but a sliver of morning light cut through, illuminating the carnage.
