“Have the women in your life been struggling to get pregnant? Have you been cock-blocked by headaches, or periods that never end? Try Novovo today! Just add one drop of our colorless, tasteless solution to their favorite food or…”

The radio blares from the shelf above the industrial sink, some pharma ad for a fertility drug, the voice syrupy and urgent.

Mark stands at the kitchen island, clutching a chipped mug, the coffee inside bitter and scalding black. He’s grateful the coffee maker still works, even after the commercial walk-in fridge has given up.

He’s watching the percolator gurgle when he feels her: Molly, his 23-year-old sister, suddenly beside him, her arm grazing his, her hair damp from the shower and dripping on her shoulder.

Her nightshirt is a thin cotton slip clinging to her ribs and hips, the neckline drooping wide enough to show the top half of one pale breast, nipple shadowed and swollen against the fabric. She leans in, pressing her tit to his bicep, acting like she’s just hunting for the sugar.

He tries not to look, tries to tell himself to stop being a creep for his own sister, but she’s right there, her hip brushing his, her skin hot and soft. When she finally finds the sugar, she pours a mountain of it into her mug and lets her hand linger on his.

Mark clears his throat, tries to step away, but there’s nowhere to go. The kitchen is a shoebox, the floor and counters crowded with cans of soup and tuna, boxes of cereal. He’s still in his sweatpants, the waistband digging in, and he can feel the telltale swell beneath the fabric, impossible to hide.

The door swings open and his mom steps in, her silky blonde hair pulled back into a bun, wearing one of his dad’s old flannels, buttoned crooked over her chest.

Dana is in her early forties, but she can pass as thirty on a bad day. Her loose flannel hides a girlish figure with a trim waist and curves in all the right places.

Without looking, Dana slides up beside her son and drops a heavy box on the counter, right next to the coffee maker. Her palm grazes his stomach, her thumb catching on the elastic of his sweats, and he’s almost certain she can see his growing bulge under the fabric.

“Morning,” she murmurs. It’s early in the morning, but Dana’s already sourced a box filled with cans of peaches and lugged it home. Since the world changed and the family began hiding out in this abandoned hotel, Mark has come to appreciate how resourceful his mom is.

“Morning, Mom.” Mark tries not to notice the way her nipples push at the thin flannel, but he can’t help it.

He doesn’t know when or how it started, if he’s the one who’s changed or the women of his family. They’d been living here for months and everything had been normal—or normal enough when you’re living in an apocalyptic world headed by a faceless man who calls himself The Patriarch and has made it his personal mission to raise the birth rate no matter what—then at some point in the last two weeks, Mark became acutely aware of things he’d never noticed before. Things like how smooth his mom’s skin looks, and how soft his sister’s tits feel, and how the creases of another one of his sister’s ass become visible when she bends over.

Behind Dana, Lila and Rowan tumble into the kitchen, barefoot and loud, their legs bare and smooth under oversized t-shirts.

They look and act so much like each other, with their boisterous laughter and freckled skin, that they used to get mistaken for twins all the time. They don’t meet strangers often these days, and the handful of people they’re still in contact with know that Lila is 22 and Rowan is 21—the baby of the family.

They swarm around Mark, each grabbing a slice of bread, shoving past him so close he can feel their breath, their hands brushing over his half-chub as they jostle for the toaster.

Lila’s shirt rides up as she stretches, exposing the curve of her back and the little bloom of freckles at the base of her spine. Rowan giggles, and Mark can almost swear that she’s looking right at his bulge as she licks jelly off her thumb.

Before Mark can tear his gaze off his youngest sister’s finger, his mom leans in and says, “Drink up. You’re coming with me.”

He chugs the rest of his coffee. In the old days, he would have protested—he’s not a morning person, never was—but lately, he’s learned to keep his mouth shut. Dana’s got a way of making you regret it if you don’t.

Mark follows his mom out through the hotel’s weedy parking lot, the asphalt still damp from last night’s rain, then into the ever-expanding woods behind the property. Ever since The Patriarch took control of the government, millions of people have fled the country, letting nature claw back large swathes of it.

The walk to town isn’t long—maybe twenty minutes if you keep up with Dana’s pace, which is nearly a jog. Mark knows she’s wearing shorts under the oversized flannel, but they’re almost completely covered. He trails her, watching the way her hips move beneath the flannel, the hemline riding up to show flashes of bare thigh, making his imagination go wild.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, why it seems like his family is teasing him on purpose, but he’s got bigger problems. Maybe Mom is just trying to blend in with the other women, he thinks to himself. These days, the only women who dare to show themselves in public are minimally dressed, often because their men prefer them that way.

Main Street is almost deserted. Most of the shops are boarded up, the windows painted with white Xs, but the grocery store at the end of the block still limps along. There are men out front, smoking and talking in low voices, their heads snapping up as Dana and Mark approach.

The men’s eyes are hard, hungry. Mark feels the weight of their gaze like a hand pressing on the back of his neck. But with him there, they only look. Nobody whistles, nobody says anything.

Inside, the store smells like canned beans and wet cardboard. Half the shelves are empty, but Dana navigates the aisles with purpose, filling her basket with sacks of flour, powdered milk, a dozen cans of soup, ignoring the only other customers in the store: a white-haired man walking a skinny, naked, twenty-something woman on a leash.

“The Patriarch is doing his part to restore the natural order. What can you do to raise the birth rate today?” The radio preaches through the sound system. A deep, authoritative voice drones on, “The new law ratified in the capital today is a game-changer. If you know a woman of childbearing age who is struggling to get pregnant, bring her to a fertility center today and…”

At the register, the cashier doesn’t say a word, not even when the old man presses his young pet’s bare tits to the door of the only working fridge in the store. He watches her nipples harden and sucks them into his mouth like they’re frozen treats, making her face twist with a mixture of repulsion and confused arousal.

Dana pulls Mark by the arm, leading him out of the store and down a gray alley. There’s a pharmacy here, the windows grimy with fingerprints and the shelves stocked with whatever the new government has decided you’re allowed to buy.

Dana leans in, whispering something to the guy behind the counter. He disappears into the back room, then returns with a plain brown bag. She hands it to Mark and heads out.

The bag is lighter than he expects. Mark cradles it in the crook of his arm, feeling the shape of hard cardboard corners. His curiosity gets the best of him by the time they reach the tree line. He peels back the paper with a thumb and peeks inside.

Rows of blue-and-white boxes—Novovo, the drug from the radio ad—stacked like a deck of cards. On top of the pile is a black plastic device, smooth and ovular, about the size of a car key remote but heavier. There’s a single red button on the face, and a little digital readout beneath it. No instructions, not even a logo.

He keeps pace behind Dana, staring at the dumb thing in his hand, trying to puzzle it out. He thinks about the ad, about how they called it “colorless, tasteless,” about how his mom and sisters have been behaving strangely, looking seductively at him from under their eyelashes, leaning a little too close and accidentally brushing against him. His stomach twists.

“Mom.” Mark jogs up to close the gap between them, clutching the bag to his chest. “What’s this for?”

Dana doesn’t slow down, just glances over her shoulder with a look that says, not here. She waits until they’re back at the edge of the hotel’s mossy parking lot before she stops, turns, and faces him head-on.

“It’s for us.” Her voice is low, steady.

“The fuck is it?” Mark holds up the brown bag.

“You’ve heard of the drug. You know what it is.”

He fishes the little black device out of the bag and holds it up. “And this?”

Dana takes it from him, rolling it in her palm. “It’s a Novovo remote. State-issue. You’ll see a lot more of them now.”

“What does that even mean? And why do you need a fertility drug? Who are they for?” Mark tries to calm himself down, but the questions keep coming, and things keep making less and less sense.

“You need to listen,” she says calmly. “You heard the news about the new law, the fertility centers. If a woman isn’t pregnant, one of The Patriarch’s men can now grab her and take her there. Who knows what they’ll do to make sure pregnancy happens?”

Mark feels his face go cold. The woods are silent. He tries to picture his sisters, naked and terrified in some state lab, some basement, hands and legs strapped down, men with needles and government badges swarming around them.

Dana tilts her head, searching his face. “I know it’s a lot. But I’m not losing my family. Not to them.”

She moves closer. He can smell her hair, the sharp chemical of the hotel shampoo, the faint hint of sweat from the walk. Her hand drops from his arm and lands on his hip, fingers warm through his sweats.

“Which is why I’ll need you to breed us,” she says, her voice soft, almost a whisper, with more than just a hint of seduction in it.

Mark tries to step back, but her grip tightens.

Dana’s hand slides down, slow and certain, until her palm cups the front of his sweats. She squeezes, just enough to make him hiss.

“I’ve been using Novovo for almost a month,” she says, voice low, eyes locked on his. “I started the day after the first time they said they were considering this new law. I knew this was coming. I knew what we’d need to do to stay together.”

Mark tries to pull away, but she follows, her grip insistent, her hand stroking him through the soft cotton. His heart is a hammer in his chest. His head spins.

This is wrong, but why does his mom’s hand feel so good on his dick?

A healthy, red-blooded 26-year-old, Mark hasn’t gotten laid in a long, long time. He fantasized about the next time he sinks his dick into a woman, the many different possibilities—how it happens, where, with whom.

This isn’t how he imagined it.

He wants to ask what his mom means—has she been secretly dosing his sisters with Novovo, too?—but the words get stuck in his throat. Dana’s thumb hooks the waistband, dips inside, and her fingers curl around his cock, skin to skin, tearing a low groan from Mark’s throat.

She leans in, breath warm against his ear. “I can’t risk them taking and separating us,” she whispers. “You heard the radio. The only way they’ll leave us alone is if we’re pregnant.”

Mark’s mouth goes dry as his mom strokes him, slow and deliberate, her hand soft and sure. He can’t help the way his hips jerk forward, can’t help the way his cock swells against her palm.

Dana sinks to her knees, the hem of her flannel puddling in the moss and leaf litter. She works his sweats down with both hands, baring his cock to the cool air, then to her stare.

“Big boy,” Dana says with pride, lifting her gaze to meet Mark’s.

She wraps her lips around the head of his son’s cock and sucks, slow and deep, taking him halfway in one smooth motion. Mark has to lean back against a tree trunk to keep from falling over. His knees are water.

Dana’s hands are busy, one fisting the base of his dick, the other cupping his balls. She works him with desperate focus, like her life depends on it. Her tongue swirls, her cheeks hollow, and she moans around him, the sound vibrating up his spine.

He looks down and sees her eyes flick up to meet his. She doesn’t break eye contact as she bobs her head, faster now, saliva pooling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down to her knuckles.

Mark can’t think. He can’t breathe. His mom’s mouth is on his cock, and it feels so fucking good he might die.

She pulls back, lips swollen, a string of spit connecting her to him. “We need to do it right now.”

He doesn’t argue.

Dana wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and stands, yanking Mark’s sweats back up over his trembling legs. She grabs his wrist and drags him across the parking lot toward the abandoned sedan at the edge of the tree line.

The car is ancient, the paint oxidized to a dull maroon, windows fogged with pollen and dust. Someone long ago smashed the front windshield, but the back doors still work—Dana wrenches one open and climbs inside.

She sprawls across the backseat, legs wide, flannel shirt hanging open to expose the soft undercurve of her bare breasts.

She reaches into the brown bag and pulls out the Novovo remote, pressing it into Mark’s palm.

“Push the button,” she says, all business. “Let’s see what happens.”

He hesitates, thumb hovering over the red circle. “What does it do?”

“Just do it,” Dana says impatiently. She starts glancing around at the backseat, the cracked leather exposing old, moldy foam. She looks uncomfortable.

Mark presses the button.

The digital readout blinks, a shrill beep echoing in the tiny space.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then Dana’s head snaps back, her jaw slack. Her body arches slowly, seductively, as she pushes herself up onto her elbows. Her gaze drops down to the bulge in his son’s pants, and she bites down on her bottom lip.

Without breaking eye contact, Dana undoes her buttons one by one. Then, she wriggles out of her shorts and panties, the sway of her hips exaggerated and hypnotizing.

Mark can only stare as he stands by the open door, unable to even swallow. His cock, still hard from the blowjob, throbs painfully in his pants as his mom puts on a show for him.

So this is what the remote does, he thinks to himself. The thought of someone else having this kind of power over his mom, over his sisters, terrifies him.

“Mark,” Dana moans softly, distracting him from his dark thoughts.

Her hand dives between her legs, fingers pressing down on her own clit. Her other hand squeezes her own tits one by one, as if demonstrating to her son the things he can do with them.

“God, fuck—Mark, I need it,” she gasps, voice gone raw and desperate. “I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

She spreads her legs wider and looks up at him with a pleading, feral hunger. Her pussy is slick and dark pink, folds glistening even in the dim light from the open door. She grinds her hips up at him, the motion urgent and desperate.

Mark steps closer to the car, his legs pressed against the edge of the backseat. His hands shake as he fumbles his sweats down. His cock springs free, already leaking, aching with the need she’s stoked within him.

Dana grabs his wrist as he hesitates at the door. She yanks him forward.

The world tilts, and he lands on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his hands bracing on either side of her ribs. The old leather seat creaks beneath their combined weight.

She is soft, hot, her legs wrapping around his waist before he can think to resist. The scent of her fills his head, making it impossible to breathe. He wonders if the drug has changed her pheromones.

“Mark, please,” Dana whispers, voice trembling with need. “Don’t make me beg.”

He can’t help the way his cock jumps at that, the way his hips slide forward, automatically pressing against the slick heat of his mom’s pussy.

Dana rolls her pelvis, grinding against him, soaking his dick in her wetness. Her hands scrabble at his back, nails biting through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, urging him closer, closer, even closer.

He fumbles, almost frantic, and lines himself up. The head of his cock pushes at her entrance.

“Fuck me, son.” She arches up, clenching around the tip, and whimpers.

Mark slides his cock into his mom’s cunt, slow at first, the tightness and heat overwhelming. He’s never felt anything like this before. She’s so wet, so ready, that his cock slides in halfway before his brain catches up.

Dana’s heels dig into his ass, pulling him deeper. “Yes. Yes, baby, fuck—give it to me, give it all to me—”

He thrusts, shallow at first, then deeper, the soft walls of her cunt flexing and milking him. She is so fucking tight. She meets every stroke, hips rising to take him, her tits bouncing with each movement, her nipples hard and flushed.

Her fingers clutch the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers, and she kisses him, open-mouthed and hungry, her tongue forcing its way past his lips.

He can’t think. He can’t see. There’s only the squeeze of her pussy, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her gasping and moaning, the way she keeps whispering his name like it’s a prayer.

“Harder,” she pants. “Don’t stop, Mark. Harder. I need it. I need you to come inside me—”

He shudders, rutting into her, the seat squealing with every pump of his hips. Her legs tighten, locking him in place. The heat builds, white-hot and relentless, and he feels himself losing control, his balls drawing up tight.

Dana’s eyes roll back, her body spasming around his cock. “Oh god, yes—don’t pull out, don’t you dare—breed me, please—”

He comes with a strangled groan, shooting deep inside her, spurting hot and thick. She clamps down, milking every last drop, her pussy pulsing around his twitching dick.

Mark buries his face in her shoulder, breathing her in as the world narrows to a single point of release.

He pulls back, just enough to see her face. Dana’s cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed and unfocused. Her lips are parted, her breaths quick and shallow, but she says nothing.

Mark stays inside his mom, his cock softening slowly. In his head, an image forms, of his mom’s pregnant body, with a heavy belly and a pair of milk-engorged tits, her body changing day by day, growing bigger with his seed. He wants to see her like that, wants to watch her tits swell and her hips spread, wants her to waddle around the kitchen in nothing but a sagging t-shirt and a bump that’s unmistakably his doing.

Dana’s eyes snap into focus. She blinks, then lifts her head to look down at where their bodies are still joined.

She flexes her muscles, milking him, and when he slides out the cum dribbles out of her, thick and white. She scoops a finger through it, watching the viscous strand stretch between her thighs, and her mouth curls into a slow smile.

“You did good,” she says. “You did exactly what you were supposed to.”

Dana pulls her panties up, tucks her tits back into the flannel, and smiles at him like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

He nods, not trusting his voice. The world spins a little.

She reaches for his hand, squeezing it, and then looks at the Novovo remote in his lap.

“You get how it works now?” she asks.

Mark shakes his head. He doesn’t, not really.

“If there’s a woman nearby who’s been on Novovo, she’ll go under. Like what you saw. She won’t wake up until she’s filled up,” Dana explains.

He swallows, feeling the weight and reality of what they’re doing. He can’t help but think about the worst-case scenario, about what would happen if someone else were to get his hands on a remote and use it on his family.

“Do the girls know they’re on Novovo, too?” he asks.

Dana purses her lips, shakes her head. “The drops, they prepare the body for breeding. And the remote control is for the mind, focusing every cell on procreation, activating—“

“You’ve seriously been drugging your own daughters? Knowing it’d put them at risk, vulnerable to any asshole with a remote?” Mark asks, cutting her off in the middle of her explanation.

“You can judge me all you want, but I’m trying to keep us safe, keep us together,” Dana says through gritted teeth, poking her finger at her son’s chest. “We’ve always been vulnerable to The Patriarch’s assholes. I’m just trying to keep us from becoming even more vulnerable than we already are.”

Mark stares at Dana, not sure what to say. He hates her for doing this, but he’s also impressed by her gritty determination and loves her for it.

“It’s not a choice, not anymore. Not if you want to keep them out of the centers.” Dana’s eyes are steady, clear. “You have to get us pregnant. All of us.”

Mark is silent. He tries to picture his sisters, the way they swarmed around him in the kitchen this morning, the way their bare thighs pressed together, the way Rowan’s eyes lingered on his dick.

He tries to picture them big-bellied and barefoot, heavy with his seed, and the part of him that’s supposed to feel disgusted just feels hot and restless.

He has to breed them. Or The Patriarch’s men will come and take them away. This is what Mark says to himself.

But deep down, there’s a dark part of him that likes this new development, that derives a sense of power from the idea of fucking his mother and sisters raw, of watching them beg for his cock, of pumping them full of his seed.

Up until yesterday, he would’ve stopped himself from even considering about thinking about his sisters in a sexual way. And he would’ve expected his mom to slap him upside the head if she knew.

But now, everything’s changed. Now, it’s inevitable. Now, it’s a matter of life and death. Mark has to breed his five sisters next.