I watched in horror as the fire erupted. My men had barely reached the beaches before bullets began ripping through their ranks and cannon fire forced them down against the sand. The surf battered against the rocks of the shore, painting them crimson with the blood of my troopers. I slammed down my fist as I watched another wave be repulsed. With a silent curse, I issued the order to end the attack. It seemed that the islands of Great Britain would not fall to me today.
*
And my mother couldn't help but laugh. I had never seen such a lucky series of dice rolls in all my life! I glanced up at the smirk that had spread across her face.
"Stopping so soon, Will? I'm having a good ole time chewing up your armies!" My sister began to laugh as well, and I allowed a grin.
"Oh, don't worry, Ma... you'll get yours soon enough!" I took my dice and passed them along the board to my sister. It was now ten o'clock at night; we had been playing for almost two hours, and I could tell this game would continue long into the wee hours of the morning.
*
To offer you a little bit of an explanation, it had become a family tradition, nearly an obsession, to whip out Risk and try our hands at world domination. My mother, sister, and I were all wickedly competitive. I guess you could say it was quite literally in our blood. The game Risk had come to the forefront of our repertoire probably because of the German blood that also ran through our veins. Every few weeks we started a game, and typically finished it in a night, with each of us equally dividing ultimate victory. Where it became interesting was the betting that almost always marked our play. Typically, it involved the winner being able to have the first loser as his or her bitch. Doing chores, running errands, the mundane activities we wanted to avoid. Whoever finished second was free from these chores, but couldn't order anyone around either. It fueled quite a desire to win amongst us all. However, it was this game that would mark a massive change in our play, and has been forever burned into my memory...
*
I had grabbed a soda and rejoined the game, plopping myself down next to Jessica, my sister, on the couch. We had spread out the board on our coffee table so that we could all enjoy the comfortable seats of the living room. It may have been late, but none of us showed even a single sign of fatigue or willingness to call it a night. It was now my sister's turn.
"Well, Mom, I really don't think you're appreciating North Africa quite enough... I'm just gonna have to take it from ya!" In one of my typical strategies, I had seized most of Europe, except Great Britain of course, and my mom had been trying to liberate her besieged forces there by coming north through Africa. My sister was cutting off her advance in hopes to expand west from her now fortress-like hold over South America. Little fighting was going on elsewhere at the moment; we all knew what each other was thinking, and my sister and I glanced at each other at almost the same second. Her quick smile told me of her devilish plan. We had teamed up to take out mom before. My mom was a vicious tease, and sometimes she needed to be taught a lesson, if just for spite.
My sister looked down at the board and began her attack. I continued to stare in her direction, contemplating my next move. Her bun of dirty blonde hair bounced up and down as she willed the dice to help her. It was late, and she had long since dispensed with her makeup, but she was naturally blessed with striking features, and was undoubtedly one of the more attractive girls on her college campus. My eyes trailed down her figure, as they had done many times before. I felt no shame in my occasional inspections of my sister's body. As a male senior in high school, I was entitled to the glances at such an attractive woman, so long as I didn't vocalize it to anyone. Her sweat pajamas were bulky, but I could still trace her outline through the material. She was not what one would describe as skinny, nor really all that plump. Her legs were curved in all the right places, her hips were perfectly rounded, slanting inward to her stomach and upwards to by far her most endearing features. Like my mother, Jess had been blessed with very large breasts. One of my more curious adventures, I had investigated her underwear drawer, and her bra tags had read 40DD. She wore a bra that held them tightly against her skin, and they created a shelf of pleasure to the eye. She knew they were her greatest asset, and more often that not, wore clothes that emphasized this figure. At only 23, they were still firm and tight to fit her curvaceous motif.
The play continued, but my mind began to wander. The thought of breasts had appealed to my hormonal mind, and my eyes drifted to my mother. It was on far rarer occasions that I examined my mom, but it happened every once in a while. And it mainly started in the same place each of those times. My mom far surpassed my sister with an ample breast size of 44E. At 49, they were not nearly as perky as my sister's, but quantity can be a quality of its own. They were simply enormous, and as tasty a piece of eye candy that a teenager could hope to see on a daily basis.
"Attacking Brazil, Jess..." My mother's lips wrapped around the words, but they fell on deaf ears. I had become caught up in my gazing. Her mouth was painted a shimmering red, my mom wore makeup much more often than my sister in an attempt to fight off the aging that had so far not noticeably ravaged her face. Her hair was a darker brown than my sister's and much shorter as well. It bounced across her face as she rolled the dice against my sister. As far as features went, my sister was the spitting image of my mother. From the waist up, they had been undoubtedly chiseled from the same piece of marble; however, my mother did have two children under her belt, and her wide hips and plump ass reflected this. But she carried her extra weight in a way that appealed to a primal urge which declared the more woman the better. Her jeans and a t-shirt were tight, and forced my eyes to visually caress every one of these curves, and completely distracted my mind from the game playing out in front of me.
"Will?" My sister tried to get my attention. "Your turn, babe."
I glanced down at the board. The tables had turned quite considerably in my mental absence. Mom had defended North Africa quite valiantly, and used this momentum to blow through Jess' armies in Brazil. She continued her rampage through Peru, Venezuela, but bogged down in an attack on Central America. My sister was now gathering her rag tag forces in the United States, but her days seemed numbered. Especially when I saw a hole on her northern front. I smiled as I planned my attack against her last main force.
"Hey, how about we take a quick break?" My sister suggested this, and I looked at the clock. It was closing in on midnight.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," said my mom. "Say fifteen minutes if none of you little weaklings wants to go to bed."
We laughed and agreed to reconvene in fifteen. I walked up the stairs and went to the bathroom. On my way out, I saw Jessica waiting for me.
"Now, Will," she started. "I know you aren't going to attack me... that just wouldn't be the brotherly thing to do."
"Suure, Jess," I chuckled. "All's fair in love and war."
She put her hands on her hips and sighed. "Well, what do you want to keep me in the game, then?" I thought for a minute.
"Any territories you can give me?"
