I was the first to wake up. I was in the front row, across the aisle from where Mom and Tiff were still sleeping, still clutching each other.

Mom and Dad had been planning to renew their vows that very evening, and Mom had arrived at the lifeboat directly from the station where she had been shopping and getting made up for the ceremony. She was already in her white dress, tight around her torso to accentuate her remarkable figure but flowing in the skirt to give her an ethereal look. She wore white stockings underneath, the lacy tops barely visible where the skirt had ridden up. Like the rest of us, she was shoeless, probably sacrificed during her flight for the sake of speed. She never needed makeup, but for the occasion she had had some applied, accenting her blue eyes and full red lips against her slight and cultivated tan. Her long blond hair had been coerced into an elaborate and elegant arrangement incorporating a jeweled tiara that looked like it must have cost a fortune. I had seen men drool over her before, and she had made every effort to be irresistible.

Tiff had been finishing her makeup in her bathroom when everything went south, so she had fled the suite with nothing more than a couple of towels wrapped around her head and body, neither of which she had been able to retain sprinting through the ship’s corridors. She was completely naked, the first time I had ever seen her so, and in my dazed state I drank her in. A contrast to Mom’s tan, Tiff had been engineered to have skin as white as milk, not even the veins and arteries beneath showing through. That only served to highlight the shocking red of her fine hair, which she had grown down to knee length, and the brilliant green of her eyes, which, again thanks to the engineers, were slightly larger than normal, giving her without makeup the kind of appearance that so many used makeup to try and achieve. She had been applying makeup when the sirens had sounded, and even half applied it served to give her an almost inhuman beauty. Her long, thin neck led down to delicate but wide shoulders and then to a pair of stunning breasts – perfectly symmetric C-cup hemispheres, firm, upright, and topped with small, delicate nipples like dark little roses. Her stomach was flat as a board, with just enough fat to conceal the muscles beneath, and narrow enough that he suddenly wondered if her genetic upgrades would allow her to have children. Behind the straps of the seat, I could see the broadening of her hips and the crease where her legs extended out to the floor, but her pussy was completely hidden.

Two such stunning women would ordinarily have been an incredibly erotic sight for me, if not for the facts that they were family, that I was in shock, and that they, like me, were covered in vomit and piss. Mom’s hair was disheveled and barely holding to a semblance of the original styling, and the beautiful white dress was stained yellow in the skirt and covered in a noxious mess on the bodice. Tiff was similarly covered, and without the dress to absorb any of it she sat wallowing in her own putrescence. Their makeup was shockingly intact – I knew that modern cosmetics were designed to resist anything but deliberate removal, but it was still surprising given the assault of bodily fluids they had endured.

I let them sleep and went up to the front.

Most of the display panels were dead, their external cameras destroyed by the explosion, but the hull was intact and the front consoles were in perfect working order. It took a few minutes to get the full picture, which was that the lifeboat was damaged but stable – the only losses were some exterior equipment, like some of the cameras and, unfortunately, the comms and navigation arrays. The lifeboat wouldn’t have been able to take us anywhere useful anyway, but at the time all it could do was put out a reduced-power beacon signal and drift, waiting for help. It was showing as fully stocked and would run out of its 720 person-days of food long before it ran out of anything else, so we were in no immediate danger. I spent a while just sitting there, staring at the unfamiliar stars and trying to feel something.

Eventually I began to feel that particular discomfort of being covered in your own effluvia and decided to clean up. I triggered the shower controls and watched as the shower head and enclosure emerged from the wall. I stripped naked and dropped my clothes into the small laundry bin, where the automated system exposed them to vacuum, vibrated them, and presumably summoned dark magic to render them clean, stain free, and odorless in a matter of minutes. I’m not sure how long I showered, I really didn’t care, I scrubbed myself clean and then just let the water run until someone knocked on the thin plastic panel behind me.

“Hon, it’s Mom. Are you okay?”

I let the water spray across my face for a second before answering.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m okay.”

“Good. We… your sister and I both need the shower too.”

“Okay.”

I turned off the shower and reached through the door for my newly cleaned shirt and pants (I rarely wore underwear, it wasn’t trendy for males that year). I dressed in a daze before stepping out of the shower to see Tiff and Mom standing before me, each looking as stunned and miserable as I felt. Tiffany was standing in that universal pose of unintentionally naked women, one arm across her chest, her other hand impersonating a fig leaf. I felt reminded of how relieved I was that we were alive, but it was having trouble breaking through the certainty that everyone we had met on the ship was probably now dead, and that Dad was (I thought) probably mourning us, unaware of our survival.

“Thanks, hon.”

They slipped into the shower together, and through the frosted plastic I could see Mom strip off her dress and toss it into the laundry bin, followed by what must have been some elaborate undergarments, based on her barely-visible contortions. Still in shock, I just stood there watching their distorted silhouettes through the plastic until they finished.

My mother poked her head out and looked at me.

“Jackson… um… can you hand me those bags up there? And can your sister borrow your shirt?”

I followed her pointed finger to the bags lodged under the front right command seat, apparently the haul from her shopping trip to the station. I glanced down at my now-clean black t-shirt – it wasn’t very long, attach by long thin straps at several points to my trousers and designed to show off my abs. Hey, between the genetic engineering and some modest exercise, I had an impressive physique and had chosen a style to accentuate it. But it also meant that on its own it wouldn’t cover much.

Nodding my head, I retrieved the bags and passed them to her, along with my hastily removed shirt. While they apparently struggled behind the frosted panes to create an outfit for Tiff, I returned to the front and the righthand seat, eschewing the left which was now spotted with the remains of my regurgitated lunch. In the corner of the screen was a big icon labelled “Instructions” and I ***********ed it. They took a long time to sort things out, and by the time Mom and Tiff emerged from the shower I had skimmed the list of “suggestions” for preparing the lifeboat for an extended stay below capacity.

Mom was the first to emerge, still wearing her newly-laundered dress sans stockings, her hair now falling straight and unstyled to the middle of her back, her makeup still intact.

“Please don’t say anything!” she whispered at me as my sister came out.

Tiff was wearing my shirt, falling to a few inches about her navel which obscured her breasts but not much else. Below she was wearing… what looked like the bottom a black, lacy teddy, showing off every contour. While it was opaque over pussy, the closeness of the fit made it clear that she had at some point unburdened herself of any pubic hair. My jaw dropped – somehow she looked more naked now than she had been before. Despite Mom’s obvious concern, she appeared unfazed by her state of undress and was making some adjustment to her hair, now bound into a tight braid extending past her ass. I noticed that she had somehow finished her makeup rather than remove it – either she lacked the solvents needed to do so or had finished it as an attempt at some kind of control over the situation.

She saw the look on my face and stopped.

“What?” She sighed and rolled her eyes, “All mom bought down there was underwear, okay?”

Mom blushed and turned away.

“You look… fine, sis. It’s… fine.” I stammered.

“Damn right I look fine.” I heard her mutter as she walked over to the storage lockers.

In retrospect, I’m not sure how I wasn’t bursting through my pants at that point. Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was because she was my sister. No idea.

We collected ration bars and water from the dispensers and had the first of what would become many unpleasant but technically nutritive meals, and then started in on the to-do list. We removed all of the seats but the third row, ejecting the unnecessary furniture out one at a time through the front airlock with the assistance of a small robotic arm affixed to the outside for just such a purpose. We carefully cleaned up the remaining splatter using a small but versatile mop included with the laundry. We unpacked a few self-inflating mattresses from the storage lockers and set them up, with Mom and Tiff in the back corners and me in the center section, the single remaining row of seats providing the barest modicum of privacy – they were narrow mattresses and we had an excess, so we quickly doubled them up. Using the console we set up a sleeping schedule for the lights and started playing some of the soothing music that had been included to help pacify upset survivors. With that work done we folded down a small game panel from the wall and Tiff and I started to play some 3D chess to start to kill some of the many, many hours we had to fill.

We barely talked the whole time, and never once mentioned the disaster, our escape, or the absent member of our family.

After a while, in accordance with our planned schedule, we packed up the game board and went to sleep. We tried at least. It took less than half an hour before the three of us were huddled together on my mother’s mattresses, crying and comforting each other until one by one we fell asleep. We would end up sleeping that way for the next few nights, the crying gradually subsiding but the need for touch and comfort persisting.

When we woke the next morning we tried to create some routine. The lifeboat was deliberately sparse and absent of too many items that could become weapons in the not unreasonable event of violence between distressed and panicked passengers. We spent a lot of time just laying around listening to the music or cycling through the games on the boards permanently affixed to the walls – there literally wasn’t anything else to do. We showered and laundered our meager stash of clothes every day, both to break up the routine and to minimize the odors in the confined space. The lifeboat had more than enough capacity, I am serious that our only real danger would be in running out of food – everything else was so well recycled that our long dead bodies could still be showering a year after we died.

Slowly, we began to talk to each other – still avoiding what had happened, just small talk. With Mom’s reluctant approval, Tiff made a detailed inspection of her shopping bags, literally the only things any of us had brought onto the lifeboat other than the clothes some of us were wearing. Unfortunately, it turned out that Mom had used the opportunity to try and “spice things up” for her and Dad, so while it was full of lingerie and a new grooming and cosmetics set she had bought at the salon she had visited, it was sorely lacking in anything either useful or (acceptably) distracting. The salon explained her attire – to maximize the effect, they had recommended she don the dress prior to getting her hair and makeup done. The net result was that my mother and sister, in between them, had a wardrobe consisting of one dress, one half-shirt, and a lot of lingerie.

This started to be a problem.

As the days passed by, this enforced proximity to two gorgeous and (in one case) very scantily clad women started to cut through the shock and awkwardness and give this teenager some truly awkward erections – not only were they incestuously motivated, but as I mentioned I come with larger-than-normal equipment. Given that my casual trousers were not designed for that kind of restraint, I spent a lot of time laying on my stomach on my mattress or sitting in one of the command seats where neither of them could see my crotch. Within a week I was using my shower time to discretely rub one out. I tried to picture my one real sexual conquest, but inappropriate images kept flashing through – my sister’s lace-covered ass, or her using her hands to hide her nakedness, or my mother’s stocking tops on her inner thigh. Soon I was sneaking off to jerk it at night as well, awkwardly explaining my absences as trips to the bathroom (which, in fairness, they were) and hoping no one noticed how long I was gone.

There was another issue as well. About the same time I started getting those problematic erections, the two of them started having something like panic attacks, usually at the same time. Their breathing would speed up, their faces flushing, and they would start to clench up their whole bodies. They would either hit the shower or go lie down back in the girls-only rear of the boat whenever it happened, and neither was willing to talk about it or subject themselves to the automeds for help. Mom was especially afflicted, and I began to get worried that she was either sick or that she was hiding something she didn’t want to tell us – I immediately wondered if she somehow knew that Dad hadn’t made it and was keeping us in the dark to make things easier. In retrospect, my failure to see the symptoms of increasing lust seems ridiculous, but in my defense I had never once entertained any fantasies of incest, and at seventeen I was not exactly burdened by a depth of experience with women. I should have wondered about the fact that they even began avoiding each other but ascribed that to our close quarters as a contrast to our normally spacious and individual living habits – I considered my own incestuous thoughts to be an unwanted physiological reflex, it didn’t occur to me that they could be experiencing anything similar.

The day after this started happening, my mother decided that we needed to let her sleep on her own. Tiff and I retreated to our own beds, but it wasn’t long at all before she quietly came up front to join me on mine. She felt good next to me, despite her movements making shirt straps chafe my bare chest, and while Mom gave us a strange look the next morning when she found us, she said nothing about it and neither did we.

The next night she came to join me again. She snuggled into my side, ever so gently writhing like she was trying to find some more comfortable position. The straps really began to bother me.

“Tiff”, I whispered.

“What?”, she whispered back.

“Can you hold a little more still? The straps on the shirt keep rubbing against me.”

I was expecting her to protest or find a different position. It caught me completely by surprise when she languidly sat up and in one graceful motion shed her, or rather my, shirt. My eyes had adapted to the dim light reaching my bed from the distant command consoles, and as she turned back towards me I feasted on the sight of her naked breasts above me. She gently slid back into her previous position, her head on my shoulder, her leg crooked over my thigh, her now naked breasts pressed into the side of my chest.

Honest Johnson woke up.

I couldn’t help it. Between the sight of her bare chest and the feel of her breasts, her tits, sliding over my skin as she breathed and squirmed my body started to react in a way that had nothing to do with any ex-girlfriend. I tried to ignore it but my pants persisted in looking like some missile trying to launch, a psychological and physical discomfort that made it impossible to sleep.

After a few minutes or possibly hours of this, she rolled over, still pressed into my side but now facing away. I kept still, but she quickly reached her hand back to grab my hip and pull me towards her. I tried to ignore her, keenly aware of my predicament, but she persisted. I finally reluctantly shifted as gently as I could to spoon her, knowing that she could not help but feel the enormous dick pressing into her ass with only the thin fabrics of my pants and her teddy keeping our position from being overtly sexual. She let out a little sigh but kept writhing. I placed my free hand on her flat stomach and tried to imagine that it was glued there and couldn’t move. I couldn’t be sure, but it felt as if her ass was pressing into my cock too often to be accidental. After a few minutes she gave a little shudder capped with a barely-audible sob. Her writhing stopped, and she quickly drifted off to sleep.

It took me hours to follow her into oblivion, waiting for Honest Johnson to give up and retire. When I woke up, she was off in the shower. Mom was sitting in one of the acceleration seats, watching me. She turned away when she saw that I had noticed, and not long after departed for the rear of the boat.

When Tiffany emerged from the shower, I was shocked. She was again wearing my presumably-freshly laundered shirt, but she had abandoned the teddy in favor of a black thong, a g-string, really. Mom had been keeping her bags just outside the shower, and I hadn’t even thought to investigate for myself what was in there, but I would never have thought of my mother buying something like that, much less my sister walking out wearing it. When she saw me watching she stopped and stood perfectly still, waiting for my eyes to finally meet hers.

“I felt like a change. Besides, I think this will be more comfortable.”

There was nothing I could say to that, and she went off to the game board to waste some more time. When Mom came out of the back a little while later she saw what Tiff was wearing and stopped dead in her tracks. She seemed like she wanted to say something, but instead just returned to the back for a while. When she came back, we all just acted like nothing was any different.

That night Tiff again came to my bed. She discarded the shirt, triggering another massive erection from me before again snuggling into my arm, facing away. She had barely laid down before she pulled me to spoon her like the night before. I figured that if my erection hadn’t bothered her last night, I could make it through again. As the night before, she kept squirming in my arms, and I started to gently stroke her stomach, hoping it would calm her and trying to distract myself from the unavoidable sexual feelings I was having for this beautiful woman in my arms. After a few minutes she turned her head towards me.

“Take off your pants!”, she whispered.

This was more than a little problematic.

“I… I don’t have any underwear on!”, I whispered, a little louder than I intended.

She gave a little shudder and sigh before she responded.

“I don’t care. It will be more comfortable for both of us.”

I froze up for a few seconds. I should have told her no. I should have told her to go back to her bed. Instead, I freed my trapped arm and awkwardly shimmied out of my trousers. Freed from his confines, Honest Johnson flipped upwards, trapped between her ass cheeks as I again embraced her.

She gave another little sigh, and arched her back, pressing her ass into my cock. I tried to tell myself it was a meaningless attempt to find a comfortable position, but her continued motions made it hard to believe. It was almost like she was giving me a horizontal lap dance, and Honest Johnson went from full salute to rock hard.

After a few minutes of writhing and panting, she reached behind her back and took Honest Johnson in her hand. I heard a faint gasp – I guess the feel of it against her back had not been enough for her to comprehend just how big it really was. She gave it a few small, slow strokes, while I went as still as a rock, not sure what was happening, not sure how to stop it, and not sure if I wanted to. Less than a minute later I felt her start to pull Honest Johnson around her ass cheek and, lifting her leg slightly, placed it between her legs. There was no way to interpret this as any kind of accident – my cock was rubbing against her pussy, stopped only by a patch of fabric small enough to be plausible as an eyepatch.

“What are you doing?”, I asked.

“This will be more comfortable. For both of us.”

“But…”

“Shhh… just let…”

She went silent for a moment, and when she spoke again I could hear the start of tears in her voice.

“I need this.”

I didn’t say anything. I loved her, and I was confused, and not nearly over everything that had happened. I guess I kind of needed it too.

She started rubbing her crotch along my dick, a low guttural noise escaping from her mouth as she did. I lay there, just letting her decide what to do, and after another minute I felt her grab my hand from her stomach and place it squarely on her tit.

I doubt I could have stopped myself. My hand was on a tit, and it started to explore. I stroked and squeezed, rolled her little nipple between my fingers, and with every motion I felt her body arch and press in response. She started to moan.

She reached between her legs, and for a moment I couldn’t tell what she was doing. Then I felt her pull her ass away from me as she again grabbed Honest Johnson and started to rub his big purple head against the entrance to her cunt.

“Tiff! We can’t”

“Shut up, Jackson. Fuck me. I need this. You need this.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, I’m… a little bigger than most guys.”

The side of her mouth closest to me cracked a grin, her eyes still closed.

“I can tell that!”

“No, seriously…”

She turned her head just enough to look me in the eye.

“You can’t hurt me. It’s okay.”

I felt her place the enormous head right at her entrance and start to press it in. She was incredibly wet, and while I could feel the side of the g-string against the side of my dick, there was almost no resistance as she began to push herself back onto me.

It felt amazing. Her pussy was tight, squeezing my dick, making it hard to penetrate her even with her own considerable natural lubrication. She rocked back and forth, every push sending me a little further into her. Her moans started to get louder, and fearing that Mom would hear, I wiggled the hand trapped beneath her until I could free it enough to place it over her mouth, my other hand still squeezing her tit and pulling her against me. Her moan got louder under my hand, and pushed by this, I started to thrust my cock up into her. Inch by inch, thrust by thrust, I worked my way deeper into her tight, tight pussy, until finally, to my considerable surprise, I felt my thighs reach her ass cheeks – I was all the way inside her! The sounds I could hear escaping through the hand over her mouth were a mix of moan and sob, and in the dim light I could see tears running from her eyes, but her free hand had reached behind me to the small of my back and was still pushing me with each thrust to continue. Something about this drove me a little wild. I don’t know if it was the situation, or her incredible body, or the incestuous nature of our coupling, but my last reservation broke at this point.

My thrusting turned to hammering, shoving my cock into her hard over and over again. I felt her body start to tense, then felt her moan drop half an octave in my hand as an orgasm swept through her. I didn’t stop, I couldn’t, although when her body relaxed a minute later I took the opportunity to roll her onto her back, pulling out only long enough to pull the g-string off her body to reveal her hairless pussy to me. She looked so beautiful, her pale skin seeming to shine with the green light coming from the front of the boat. Arching over, I started to kiss and suck at her little nipples, still thrusting as well as I could. She put her hands on my head, holding me close as I explored her tits with my mouth, and then pulled my head up to hers.

“Fuck me hard!”, she whispered into my ear, “Don’t stop!”

I pushed myself up, her legs wrapping around my back as I resumed pounding into her full force, pulling almost all the way out before slamming my cock back into her. She put her own hand over her mouth to muffle the grunts she couldn’t otherwise stifle, and I had to struggle to keep my own vocalizations in check. Honestly, I doubt I would have stopped if we were caught at it, or that my mother could have pulled me off of her, but I still tried.

I felt her start to tense again underneath me, and she pulled one of my hands off the mattress and back to her mouth. I dropped my elbow to the mattress to keep my weight off her mouth, and kept thrusting. She arched her back as the second orgasm swept through her, and I felt myself rapidly approaching my own release.

As she began to relax, I whispered into her ear.

“I’m gonna cum!”

She turned her head to whisper back to me.

“Cum in my mouth!”

“What?”

“Do it! Cum for me! Cum in my mouth!”

I had never done that before, at least not while actually fucking, but the perversion of it thrilled me. I pulled myself off of her, and as she pushed herself up onto her elbows I shimmied off her and up to near her face. Without hesitation, she took me in her mouth. The feel of the suction, her little hand around my shaft, and her tongue on the head brought me to climax and I fired what felt like a gallon of cum into her mouth, spurt after spurt. My whole body was tense, and I had to put my hand over my own mouth to keep myself from screaming at the sensation. On the third spurt I felt her cough around the head of my dick and saw a little jizz escape from the corner of her mouth, but she kept sucking it down as well as she could. After a full ten spurts, I was finally spent and collapsed onto my side.

She was panting heavily, as was I, and I could see my cum covering her chin and dripping down onto her tits. As I watched, she began scooping it up into her mouth, again a first in my experience. She must have seen the surprise and confusion on my face, because she whispered a quick explanation to me.

“I don’t want it on the mattress! We can’t clean that up discretely!”

I just nodded. I couldn’t understand how she could be so practical in the heat of that moment, I still don’t. When she was done, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. I scooted my body next to hers and reached over to pull her into my arms. She stared at me for a second, and then her eyes flooded with tears. She buried her head in my chest as heaving sobs wracked her body. I just held her, feeling her tears on my chest as she tried to silence her weeping. After a minute or two she brought herself under control, and a minute later she brought her face up close to mine.

“Thank you.”, she whispered.

We held each other for another half hour, naked, sweaty, partially covered in her saliva and whatever cum she might have missed. She pulled herself away from me then, and grabbing the shirt headed off to the bathroom. I heard the water run for a few seconds, and then she returned, clean, with the shirt balled and wet in her hands. She gently wiped down my now deflated dick as well as the part of my chest where her face had rested. When she was done, she picked up the g-string and my pants and padded back to the bathroom and I heard her cycle the laundry. A few minutes later she returned, dressed again, if you can call it that, in the g-string. She handed me my pants and dropped the shirt to the floor. I worked my way into the trousers, and she rejoined me on the mattress, pressing her breasts again into my side. Her arms wrapped around my chest, and she squeezed hard.

“Thank you.”, she whispered again.

A minute later I felt her arms relax as she fell asleep. Scarcely a minute after that, I joined her.

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