The dust of our old life settled as refugees in a new country, our family crammed into a rented house. Stability was a myth until I made it real. I looked at my mother, a widow with weary eyes, and told her I’d marry her. For the family. She refused, her protests sharp for two days, but my dick was hard with purpose. I needed her. That first night, I pushed her against the wall, my hands groping her full tits through her dress. "For us," I whispered, biting her neck. She relented, and I tore her clothes off, my cock throbbing as I spread her thighs. Her pussy was wet with reluctant heat as I plunged inside, fucking her deep on the floor, her moans mixing with tears. Six months of claiming her nightly, my seed pumping into her womb, but she was past bearing. I needed heirs.

My sister was next—a virgin, pure as moonlight. Mother, now my wife, persuaded her. The night she agreed, I entered her room. She lay in bed, trembling. I pulled her into my lap, kissing her soft lips, my hands roaming her small breasts. "You’ll give me sons," I murmured, sliding my fingers into her tight pussy. She gasped as I positioned my thick rod at her entrance. With one thrust, I broke her hymen, her cry muffled against my chest. I fucked her relentlessly for a week, pounding her tender cunt until she screamed with pleasure. A month and a half later, her belly swelled with my child. My first son grew inside her guts, a blessing.

Then came my