Unexpected Bonds
Copyright© 2026 by Dilbert Jazz
Chapter 15: Sunday Dinners
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 15: Sunday Dinners - Step-siblings Sophia (29, struggling artist) & Julian (27, guarded coder) ignite buried desire in an empty Kansas City mansion over Thanksgiving. Vicious confessions lead to brutal degradation: squirting shame, face-painting cum, personal humiliations in parents’ bed, threesome with Riley as toy. Raw fucking against family portraits seals their twisted intimacy. No redemption—just honest ruin they crave.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Incest Brother Sister DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Group Sex Anal Sex Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Squirting Caution Slow
The first Sunday after the move felt like stepping onto new ground—familiar, but no longer solid. The mansion waited at the end of the long driveway, white columns catching the late-afternoon November light, magnolias bare and skeletal against the gray sky. Sophia drove separately from Julian—different cars, different arrival times, different excuses if anyone asked. She pulled in at 5:12 p.m.; he arrived seven minutes later.
Inside, the smell of roasting chicken and rosemary hit like memory. Their mother was in the kitchen, apron on, stirring gravy. Their father sat in the great room with the football game muted, beer in hand.
“Kids!” their mother called, wiping her hands on a towel. “You’re here. Together?”
Sophia smiled—easy, practiced. “Ran into each other in the driveway. Perfect timing.”
Julian nodded—carrying a bottle of red from a downtown shop. “Figured we’d carpool back. Save gas.”
Their mother’s eyes flicked between them—quick, searching—then softened.
“Dinner in twenty. Go wash up.”
They moved through the house like ghosts of their former selves—Sophia to the powder room to splash water on her face, Julian to drop the wine in the kitchen. No stolen touches. No lingering glances. Just careful distance.
Dinner was almost normal. Almost.
The table was set the same way: good china, cloth napkins, the long oak surface polished to a shine. Chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy boat in the center. Their father talked about the Chiefs game; their mother asked about the new lofts.
“How’s the light for painting, Soph?” she asked.
“Great,” Sophia said. “Big windows. Morning sun.”
“And you, Julian? Close to clients?”
“Walking distance to most,” he answered. “No more commute.”
Their mother smiled—warm, maternal. “I’m proud of you both. Moving out. Growing up.”
Their father raised his glass. “To independence.”
They clinked—four glasses, four smiles.
Under the table, Julian’s foot brushed Sophia’s ankle—once, deliberate, then gone.
After dinner, cleanup was shared. Sophia at the sink, Julian drying beside her, parents in the great room watching the post-game recap. Their mother disappeared upstairs to change; their father dozed in his recliner.
In the kitchen, alone for the first time, Julian stepped close—hip to hip, voice low.
“Missed this,” he murmured.