The Family Slut

Mike stood by the door, keys in hand, phone in the other, tapping his foot like a father waiting on a teen daughter to finish curling her hair. He was muttering something about traffic and lakehouse curfews when the bedroom door creaked open--and silence slammed into the room like a semi-truck.

Anita stepped out slowly, one high-heeled foot at a time. Her skin was glowing, her long, curly brown hair cascading over her shoulders like she was auditioning for a shampoo commercial. But Mike's eyes didn't even reach her hair. His soul was being sucked directly into the glossy, titanic chasm of her cleavage.

The dress was red. Red like a firetruck. Red like a warning sign. Red like every ounce of common sense in Mike's body trying to scream, "Danger!" But it wasn't just the color--it was the cut. The neckline plunged so low it was practically an invitation. Her breasts--absolutely enormous--were defying gravity, fabric, and reason. Each step she took made them shift hypnotically, barely contained, like twin goddesses trying to escape worship.

"Hey, babe," she said sweetly, voice as innocent as her dress was blasphemous. "Ready?"

Mike blinked. "I--I thought you were changing. Into the sundress?"

Anita looked down at herself with a mock-surprised gasp. "Oh no, this is the sundress. See? No sleeves. Super summery."

"Anita," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, "my mom is going to have a stroke."

"Maybe she'll be flattered. I hear cleavage skips a generation," she said, tugging at the hem with mock modesty, which only made her breasts bounce once more.

Mike made a wheezing sound like a modem struggling to connect. "Seriously, this is--this is too much."

"Too much what?" she asked, turning in a slow circle, pretending to inspect herself. The dress hugged every curve: the swell of her belly, the generous arch of her wide hips, the hypnotic jiggle of her ass.

"Too much everything!" Mike said, gesturing like a man trying to mime the outline of a volcano. "You're practically naked, Anita! I mean--Jesus."

She bit her lower lip and walked up to him, breasts rising dangerously close to his face. "You said to bring something nice. This is nice."

Mike stepped back instinctively and bumped into the coat rack. "You can't wear that in front of my dad!"

Anita smiled, stepping past him toward the door, grabbing her purse off the hook. "Then you'd better tell your dad not to stare. I make no promises if he drools on my shoes."

As Mike sputtered behind her, Anita slipped on her sunglasses, cool as a summer breeze.

In her purse, buried beneath her lip gloss and sunscreen, was a balled-up strip of neon pink lycra--a bikini so small it could fit in a sandwich bag. Mike hadn't seen it. Yet.

She smiled to herself as she opened the door.

If this dress gave him a panic attack, wait until he sees what I packed for the lake.

The elevator hummed as it descended to the parking garage, the low flicker of fluorescent lights casting a pale sheen across Anita's curves. She stared at herself in the mirrored wall, adjusting one strap of the scandalous dress that had already won the argument.

"God, it really is perfect," she murmured, lifting the fabric slightly and then letting it settle again. The deep V of the neckline showed the inner curves of both breasts, a sweaty, smothering valley of warm brown skin and soft, perfect swell. She pushed her arms together just a bit--bam. Instant hydraulic effect. She giggled.

Mike, standing beside her, looked like he'd swallowed a USB stick.

"Can't believe you're wearing that to meet my mom," he muttered, watching the elevator numbers tick down.

"Can't believe your mom's never seen cleavage before," Anita replied with a wink. "It's not like I'm showing nipple. Yet."

"Anita!"

"Kidding, kidding!" she said, throwing her hands up--unintentionally jiggling her breasts enough that Mike groaned again and stared at the ceiling.

"My family's... conservative. We're not like your TikTok feed. My dad wears socks with sandals. My uncle Rob calls sushi 'bait.' They're not... prepared."

Anita turned to face him fully, her hand resting on her cocked hip. The movement alone was like a wave in slow motion. Her ass filled out the back of the dress like dough rising in a too-small pan.

"And I'm not supposed to be prepared for that?" she said, her tone light but pointed. "I've spent two weeks shaving, moisturizing, exfoliating, steaming, and contouring for this damn reunion. Forgive me if I want to show off the product."

Mike's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. He tried to look her in the eyes--but failed, his gaze dropping like a magnetized elevator straight back to her chest.

She smirked. "Eyes up, babe."

"I'm trying!" he said helplessly.

The elevator doors dinged open, and Anita strutted out confidently, heels clacking, hips swinging like a slow metronome. Mike followed, wheeling their suitcase with the jerky movements of a man attempting not to make eye contact with his girlfriend's tits.

As they reached the car, Anita leaned in close. Her perfume hit him--something tropical and edible--and she whispered, "You know what the best part is?"

"Oh god, what?"

She grinned. "This isn't even the most revealing thing I packed."

Mike made a sound like a man falling off a bridge.

Mike yanked open the Corolla's trunk with a grunt, sweat already darkening his nerdy "Star Wars meets calculus" T-shirt. He slotted in the suitcase, the snack bag, the cooler--every mundane chore done with frantic focus, as if packing with speed might neutralize the ticking sex bomb beside him.

Anita, meanwhile, was doing a slow-motion ballet of getting into the passenger seat. She bent at the hips with deliberate grace, letting her big ass sway as she lowered herself down. Her tits squeezed together as she leaned forward, arms crossed for "balance." The neckline yawned open like a smile from the devil herself.

Mike froze halfway between trunk and driver's side. He could see straight down the dress. Full, heavy, perfect breasts, pressed together by gravity and mischief. No bra. Nothing but soft, jiggling freedom.

"You coming, or should I drive?" Anita teased, buckling her seatbelt--slowly.

"No, I'm--yeah. Coming." Mike slammed the trunk, then mumbled to himself, "Unfortunately."

He slid into the driver's seat and cranked the A/C, muttering prayers to every God in every religion for strength and for his mom to somehow be blind this weekend.

"You okay?" Anita asked sweetly, one hand resting on his thigh.

"Fine. Totally fine," he said, voice high-pitched.

"You're very tense." Her fingers rubbed small circles on his leg, just above the knee. "You know, stress is terrible for circulation."

"Anita."

"Just saying. I read things."

He gave her a side glance and caught her staring straight ahead, lips pursed in fake innocence. Her breasts bounced lightly with every bump in the road. Mike tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

She adjusted the top of her dress again. A little too vigorously.

"Oh no," she said lightly, "did I nip-slip?"

"I'm driving, Anita!"

"Then keep your eyes on the road, babe," she said, crossing her legs and letting the hem of her dress ride up her thick thighs. "I'll be good. Promise."

Mike tried breathing through his mouth. That was worse.

"You're trying to kill me," he muttered.

"Only a little," she whispered with a grin.

The gas station sat like a lonely outpost in the middle of pine-drenched nowhere. Its flickering sign buzzed faintly overhead while bugs thumped against the windows like desperate party crashers.

Mike pulled up to the pump and gave Anita a pleading look. "Ten minutes. Please. No incidents."

"Roger that, Captain," Anita said, saluting--breasts jiggling with military disrespect.

Mike groaned and headed to pump gas. Anita strutted toward the store with casual confidence, her hips rolling under the tight hem of her dress, the summer heat shimmering off her skin. The automatic door whooshed open and immediately triggered a sonic ripple of dropped jaws.

A trucker by the jerky rack blinked hard. The teenage cashier swallowed audibly. Even the elderly woman near the Slim Jims did a double take.

Anita smiled politely. She was already aware of the growing heat between her thighs.

She strolled down the candy aisle, deliberately bending at the waist--not the knees--when she spotted a pack of gum near the bottom shelf. The dress tightened across her hips like shrink-wrap. As she leaned forward, the fabric around her neckline gave up entirely.

A full sideboob peeked out.

The trucker dropped his granola bar.

"Oops," Anita whispered, straightening up with a coy glance toward the mirror dome in the corner.

She wiggled over to the cooler, bent low to get a bottle of water, and definitely caught the cashier watching her ass in the glass reflection.

When she walked up to pay, the poor boy couldn't make eye contact. He handed her change like she might be electrified.

"Thanks, sweetheart," she said, letting her fingers brush his as she took the coins.

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Outside, Mike had his arms crossed like he was guarding a vault.

"What?" Anita asked, sliding into the car.

"You were in there for ten minutes," he said.

"I had to find the watermelon gum. You know I'm picky."

"Why was that cashier blushing so hard he looked like he was on fire?"

She popped the gum in her mouth and gave a slow, exaggerated chew. "Maybe he's never seen a goddess before."

Mike banged his forehead lightly against the steering wheel. "Kill me now."

Anita just smiled and leaned back, letting one shoulder of her dress slip down an inch. The fabric obeyed her like a loyal dog.

The lakehouse appeared like a mirage between pine trees, its wraparound porch filled with laughter, folding chairs, and the hum of a beer cooler. Wind rustled through the leaves while birds chirped overhead like background singers in a sitcom opening.

Mike eased the car into the driveway with all the enthusiasm of someone parking in front of a firing squad. Anita casually reapplied her lip gloss.

"Okay," Mike said, gripping the steering wheel like it owed him money. "Let's just--keep things chill, okay? No wardrobe accidents. No... bouncing. Or jiggling. Or bending. Or anything that could get you arrested in Utah."

"You know," Anita said, popping the gloss back into her purse, "you're a lot cuter when you're panicking."

"I'm serious," he hissed. "Please don't do anything that makes my dad say 'hubba hubba.'"

"No promises," Anita replied sweetly.

They got out of the car. Mike, practically vibrating with tension, opened the trunk. Anita? She stepped out like a pageant queen descending onto a red carpet. Her tits led the way, proud and high and framed perfectly in the cruel dip of that dress. Her hips swayed with each step, the kind of walk that made mailmen crash their vans.

"Mike!" called a woman's voice. His mom--Marge--was waving from the porch, floral apron already tied over her T-shirt. Beside her stood Ken, wearing cargo shorts, socks with sandals, and a hat that said "Grill Sergeant."

Marge rushed over and hugged her son. "You made it! And this must be--oh my!" she said as she turned toward Anita.

"Anita," she said brightly, holding out her hand.

"You're stunning," Marge said, blinking twice.

"That's a strong dress," Ken said. "Really... really strong."

Mike groaned.

"Thank you," Anita said, giving his dad a wink that sent the man into a light coughing fit.

"Everyone's out back," Marge said, leading the way. "Bryan's on the grill, Lindsay's making sangria, Rob's already three beers in."

Anita followed, hips swaying. Mike trailed behind her, half-shielding her from his family like a secret service agent trying to protect the president's boobs.

As they reached the back porch, a fresh wave of faces turned toward them. Conversations stuttered. Heads tilted.

Anita smiled and waved like Marilyn Monroe.

The lake shimmered behind her. Her tits shimmered in front of her. And somewhere deep in her core, a pulse throbbed.

This was going to be one hell of a weekend.

----------

The backyard stretched out in a mishmash of lawn chairs, folding tables, and tiki torches that looked like they'd been bought during a suburban panic over mosquitoes. A Bluetooth speaker crackled out a country playlist, and somewhere near the lake, a dog was barking at a canoe.

Marge led them through the screen door and into the gauntlet of family faces. Anita smiled her warmest, politest smile--ignoring the wave of stares that hit her like a heat lamp.

"Everyone, this is Anita!" Marge announced, beaming. "Mike's girlfriend--and might I say, absolutely stunning!"

The group responded in a strange symphony of reactions:

Bryan, shirtless behind a smoking grill, grinned like a man who'd just discovered women existed. Mike's older brother, Anita remembered. Divorced, dad energy, and apparently allergic to shirts.

Rob, already red-faced with beer and built like a human noise complaint, raised his cup. That was Uncle Rob--Mike's dad's brother. The one Marge had warned her "might tell off-color jokes."

Lindsay, lounging in an Adirondack chair with cutoffs and a crop top, raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Mike's little sister. Artsy, confident, and clearly sipping from the bisexual kool-aid.

"Whoa," Bryan said, pulling off his sunglasses. "Mike wasn't kidding. You're hot."

"Bryan!" Marge snapped, swatting him with a dish towel.

Anita laughed politely, cheeks pink. "Nice to meet you all."

Ken ambled over, already holding two beers. Mike's dad. Retired gym teacher, big on grilling, bigger on pretending not to look down a woman's top.

"Welcome, Anita. You, uh... you make quite an entrance," he said, taking a sip to cover the stare.

"Thank you, Mr. Simmons," she replied sweetly.

"Ken," he corrected. "Call me Ken. Or... whatever you want, really."

Anita's smile tightened. Oh, it's going to be like that, she thought.

"Is that sangria?" she asked, nodding toward Lindsay's red cup.

"Only if you're cool," Lindsay said, standing up and handing it over without breaking eye contact. "Taste test. See if you pass."

Anita took a sip--sweet, boozy, with a twist of citrus and lesbian tension. She handed it back. "Definitely pass."

"Damn right you do," Lindsay murmured.

Mike cleared his throat loudly. "So! Anita and I will, uh, go unpack. Then we can help with whatever."

"Oh no, honey," Marge said. "You just relax. There's beer, food, and plenty of people to interrogate your girlfriend."

Anita laughed, and this time it was genuine. The tension, the heat, the way every single person looked at her like she was a centerfold who wandered into a cookout--it was overwhelming, a little uncomfortable... and wildly addictive.

"You like yours rare, medium, or criminally overcooked?" Bryan asked, flipping a burger with dramatic flair as Anita wandered toward the grill.

He stood there like a summer cliché: shirtless, muscles shiny with grill sweat, backward cap, tongs in hand like a knight wielding a spatula. The scent of sizzling meat curled around him--and her--as Anita stepped closer.

"Medium," she said, "but slightly pink inside."

Bryan raised an eyebrow and gave her a knowing smile. "Damn, girl. That's dangerously close to flirty."

Anita shrugged, her breasts bouncing subtly beneath the clingy red fabric. "Just honest. Unlike whatever's happening with your shirt situation."

"Hey, it's summer," Bryan said, gesturing to his bare chest like it was government-mandated. "Besides, I figured one of us ought to try and keep up."

Anita blinked. "Keep up?"

"You walked in here looking like an hourglass with a vengeance. Somebody had to make an effort."

She laughed--surprised, a little flattered, a little scandalized. "You know I'm dating your brother, right?"

"Stepbrother," he corrected quickly.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's full-blooded," she said with a smirk.

"Semantics," he said, flipping a burger and letting it sizzle dramatically. "Anyway, I'm just saying you're lucky you're not meat. You'd have the whole family drooling by now."

"That's incredibly inappropriate," she said, cheeks pink.

"And accurate," he added, handing her a plate.

Anita took it slowly, her fingers brushing his. He winked. She turned away quickly--but not before letting her hips sway just a little extra on the walk back to the table.

Mike was talking with Marge near the drink cooler, utterly unaware.

Keep grilling, Bryan, she thought. Let's see who gets roasted first.

Anita settled into one of those folding lawn chairs that practically swallowed you whole. It sagged under her curves like it had given up entirely. Her dress--already ambitious--rode up her thighs like it was trying to escape. The soft meat of her hips peeked out with every small shift.

"Careful with that one," Uncle Rob called, lumbering over with a fresh beer in each hand. "Chairs like that weren't made for... high performance assets."

Anita smiled politely. "Good thing I bring my own structural integrity."

Rob chuckled like a man who didn't deserve her time. "Well, you're certainly... built. Mike's punching above his weight, huh?"

Ken appeared a second later with a paper plate of ribs and no real reason to be standing there. "You doing okay, Anita? Need a napkin, bottle of water, industrial-strength fan?"

"I'm good, Ken, thanks," she said, shifting slightly--her breasts jiggled under the tight fabric, and all three men immediately looked like they were trying to solve a math problem behind her neckline.

"You sure?" Ken asked, eyes not quite making it back up. "You're glowing."

"That's sunscreen," she said flatly.

"Effective," said Rob.

Jason hovered in the background, quiet as usual. He was Mike's cousin, technically, though Anita wasn't sure from which branch. Polite, handsome, and introverted, he hadn't spoken much--but he watched. Constantly. Right now his eyes were fixed on the crease of her thigh where the dress bunched. When she caught him, he looked away so fast it was like he'd been shot.

She adjusted her legs slowly. Deliberately. Letting the fabric slide an inch higher.

"This seat taken?" Lindsay asked, sliding into the chair beside her without waiting for an answer. Her bare leg bumped against Anita's, warm and smooth.

"You're popular," she whispered, stealing the rest of Anita's sangria.

"I'm being objectified by a barbecue," Anita replied quietly.

"Don't lie," Lindsay murmured, voice low. "You like it."

Anita didn't respond. She just licked a drop of sangria off her lip and shifted again. The chair groaned. So did Rob.

The folding table was a buffet of beige. Coleslaw, potato salad, macaroni salad, corn muffins--all looking vaguely damp under the summer sun. Anita drifted toward it more out of politeness than hunger, still slightly buzzed from the sangria and the cocktail of gazes glued to her body.

She leaned forward to scoop some potato salad--and caught Uncle Rob's eyes locked like a laser on her tits. He wasn't subtle. The man was staring so hard she thought his neck might snap from the angle.

"Don't strain yourself, Rob," she said casually, not even looking up.

"Just admiring the spread," he said, and Anita didn't need to look to know he wasn't talking about the food.

Jason appeared beside her, carrying an empty plate and wearing a face that said I'm trying not to get caught looking. His eyes darted to her cleavage, then her thighs, then up--only to meet hers.

He flinched and dropped a scoop of macaroni salad on his shoe.

"Need help?" Anita asked, amused.

"N-nope," he said, red-faced. "Just clumsy."

Ken sidled up behind her next, reaching for the deviled eggs. His hand brushed her lower back--right at the small dip just above her ass.

"Oops, sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all.

Anita stood still, her heart pounding and her panties damp. The touches were quick, the stares relentless, and every inch of her felt like it was being mentally undressed by a dozen eyes.

She made a decision.

Instead of tugging her dress up, like any self-respecting girlfriend at a family function might, she tugged it slightly down. Just a half-inch. Just enough to let the fabric rest deeper into the valley of her cleavage.

Behind her, someone coughed.

Anita turned and smiled sweetly. "Who wants mustard?"

No one answered. They were too busy drooling.

The guest bathroom was small, airless, and decorated in seashell soap and fake ivy. The mirror had a faint smear across the glass and the toilet hummed faintly when flushed. But Anita barely noticed any of it.

She stood before the mirror, hands braced on the tiny sink, her chest rising and falling as if she'd run up a hill.

Her dress was clinging tighter now, damp at the thighs from sweat and... other things. Her nipples stood stiff against the thin fabric. Her lips were parted. Her skin was flushed.

She stared at her reflection like it wasn't her.

What the hell is happening to me?

She'd wanted to make an impression--sure. She'd known the dress was dangerous. But she hadn't expected them to be so obvious. So hungry. And she definitely hadn't expected how good it would feel.

Anita bit her lip as the memories hit all at once:

Bryan's shirtless smirk.

Rob's eyes glued to her chest like magnets.

Jason's quick, nervous glances... and his trembling hand.

Ken's fingers, "accidentally" brushing the sensitive dip of her back.

Lindsay, sipping her sangria like it was a dare, her bare leg pressed against Anita's thigh.

The attention hadn't embarrassed her.

It had lit her up.

She reached down and lifted the hem of her dress, just a few inches, exposing the tops of her thighs. Her breath caught.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Not even a thong.

Well, she thought, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her lips, that explains a lot.

She let the dress fall again, adjusted her tits like she was arming for battle, and turned toward the door.

It was still early.

And Anita was just getting started.

----------

The sun was dipping low now, casting golden slants of light across the lake and the worn planks of the back porch. A group had gathered around the patio table--plastic cups sweating in the heat, conversations lazily looping between fishing, fantasy football, and the eternal superiority of charcoal over gas.

Anita stepped out with a fresh cup of wine, hips rolling with casual menace. The porch quieted for a beat. Even the Bluetooth speaker seemed to pause mid-song.

She slid into a chair beside Jason, the quiet cousin, who sat nervously picking at a bowl of trail mix. His eyes darted to her face, then her breasts, then the horizon.

Anita crossed her legs, slow and smooth. The hem of her dress slid up like it had a mind of its own. Her thigh emerged--smooth, thick, golden under the late sun.

Jason's fingers froze in the trail mix.

She uncrossed, then re-crossed the other way. The dress bunched higher. A hint of her inner thigh, soft and shockingly bare, flashed into view. Jason's ears turned the color of overripe strawberries.

"Hot day," Anita murmured, sipping her drink.

"Y-yep," Jason managed.

Across the table, Lindsay watched with open amusement. She sipped her sangria and licked the rim of her cup like she was tasting a secret.

"So Anita," she said, lazily, "what do you do when you're not melting every man within a hundred yards?"

Anita smiled sweetly. "Oh, you know. Design work. Freelance. Mostly... creative exposure."

"I bet," Lindsay said, eyes flicking to her thighs.

Jason choked on a peanut.

"Alright, teams!" Bryan shouted, already a beer deep and wielding a beanbag like a coach hyped on testosterone. "Cornhole tourney starts now. Winner gets bragging rights and the last rib."

Anita found herself partnered with Lindsay, who gave her a sly grin as they stepped onto the lawn.

"You know this game?" Lindsay asked.

"Nope," Anita said, "but I've got great aim and better bounce."

"I bet you do," Lindsay murmured.

Anita waited for her turn, the hem of her dress tickling her thighs with every breeze. When she stepped forward to toss her first beanbag, she bent--just a little too far.

Her dress gaped at the armhole. From the side, her breast was nearly out, the soft curve catching full sunlight. Ken, standing with a beer in hand, nearly dropped it. Rob let out a low whistle that he tried to turn into a cough.

Anita heard it. Felt it.

She didn't flinch.

Instead, she slowly straightened, adjusted her neckline--not to cover anything, but to smooth the fabric around her breasts like she was fluffing pillows.

"Sorry," she said, fake-innocent. "This dress is a little... bouncy."

"Don't apologize," Ken said too quickly.

Rob elbowed him. "She's winning. And she hasn't even scored yet."

Anita turned and gave a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. But her pulse was racing. Her nipples were hard. Her panties--well, nonexistent.

She threw her next beanbag and deliberately let it fall short, so she'd have to go pick it up.

She did it slowly. Carefully.

And this time, she didn't bend with her knees at all.

The porch swing was in the shadiest corner of the deck, swaying lazily in the evening breeze. Anita spotted Jason sitting there, alone, nursing another soda like he was hiding from everyone and everything. She approached with an innocent smile.

"Room for one more?" she asked.

Jason blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Yeah, totally."

She eased down beside him, her soft hips pressing into the creaky cushions. The swing groaned like it wasn't built for double goddess weight. Her dress rode high again, hiking up her thighs as the seat dipped.

Jason stared very determinedly at his drink.

"Fun game," she said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Though I think Rob cheated. He eyeballed me every time I bent over."

Jason let out a dry, panicked laugh. "Y-yeah. It's... uh. Hard to... um."

Anita reached forward to grab her wine glass off the side table. As she leaned, the swing shifted--her shoulder strap slid down, slow as honey.

Then it happened.

One heavy, round, tan breast spilled fully free from her dress.

Not a hint. Not a peek.

The whole thing.

Jason made a sound like a man being tased. His hand jerked, knocking his soda into the grass, forgotten entirely.

Anita looked down, blinked with mock surprise, and casually tucked herself back in--slowly, without panic. Her nipple, dusky and hard, disappeared behind red fabric again like it had taken a bow.

She turned to him, wine glass in hand, and gave him a long, slow smile.

"Oops."

Jason's mouth opened. No sound came out.

"Maybe don't mention that one to Mike," she added, giving his thigh a gentle, lingering pat before taking a sip.

Jason stared ahead, frozen in time.

The kitchen was quiet--rare for the lakehouse, but the party had temporarily migrated to the dock for a group photo. Anita had slipped away to refill her wine.

The fridge buzzed. A fan rattled in the window. And from the doorway, Bryan appeared like a sitcom villain with impeccable timing.

"Alone at last," he said, leaning on the counter like he lived there.

Anita didn't flinch. She just raised an eyebrow. "Missed the family photo."

"Didn't want to be in a picture I'd regret," he said. "Or have framed next to Marge's ceramic frogs."

Anita smirked and poured another glass.

"You know," Bryan said, moving closer, "you've got the best rack this house has ever seen. And this place had a mounted moose head in the '90s."

Anita snorted. "You're disgusting."

"And yet," he said, "you're still here."

She turned toward him, one hip cocked, wine glass swirling. "You're really saying that to your brother's girlfriend?"

Bryan shrugged. "Hey, if Mike brought home a Ferrari, I'm allowed to admire the craftsmanship."

Anita laughed despite herself. Her body was humming--Jason's reaction still fresh in her mind, her own arousal mounting like waves in her chest.

"You want to touch it?" she asked, casual as a weather report.

Bryan blinked. "Wait--seriously?"

She stepped in, grabbed his hand, and pressed it gently to the side of her breast. Just enough. Just a palmful. Warm, soft, heavy.

Bryan inhaled sharply.

"Now you have," she said, pulling away.

"I'm gonna need a minute," he whispered.

"Better make it a cold shower," she said, already walking out the door.

Anita stood at the kitchen counter, refilling her glass with the last of the rosé. In the microwave's reflection, she saw herself: cheeks flushed, hair tousled, cleavage spilling like sin. She looked... undone. Powerful.

And just a little dangerous.

Her pulse was still ticking from Bryan's hand. She could still feel the warmth of it cupping her breast.

But then--

"There you are!" Mike's voice broke the spell. He stepped in from the hallway, pushing up his glasses. "I've been looking all over."

Anita turned, smile softening. "Sorry, I was--just grabbing more wine."

"You missed the photo. And my mom wanted you to try her 'patriotic trifle.' She's kind of spiraling about it."

"Oh--shoot. I didn't mean to disappear--"

Mike waved a hand, flustered. "It's fine, it's fine. I just--can we please not have any more 'wardrobe malfunctions' today?"

Anita blinked.

"Lindsay said she thought she saw, uh... a 'slip' on the porch. I told her it was probably just the lighting."

Her guilt flickered. Then fizzled out entirely.

"You know," Mike added with a nervous laugh, "maybe tomorrow you wear, like... something less... aggressively titty."

Anita set her glass down slowly. "Aggressively titty?"

"You know what I mean," he said, already backpedaling. "Just... subtle. Family-friendly."

She smiled.

It was the kind of smile that made flowers wilt and thermostats panic.

"Sure, babe," she said sweetly. "I'll wear something very... subtle."

He looked relieved. "Thanks. I knew you'd understand."

Anita sipped her wine.

The game wasn't over.

It had only just begun.

----------

"Alright, folks!" Ken called, clapping his hands like a camp counselor. "You know the rules--sun's low, meat's grilled, beer's flowing. That means it's time for the traditional evening swim!"

Cheers went up. Flip-flops smacked. Solo cups sloshed. Someone already had a towel over one shoulder like they'd been waiting all day.

"C'mon," Lindsay said to Anita, bumping her hip. "Lake's warm. You in?"

Anita smiled. "Sure. Just need to change."

She sauntered inside, up the stairs, and into the guest room. Her heart thudded in her chest as she reached into her duffel bag and pulled out the swimsuit: a neon-pink two-piece that barely qualified as legal fabric.

The top clung to her enormous breasts like a suggestion, more decoration than coverage. The string ties pulled tight around her neck and back, lifting her soft, heavy tits into a deep shelf of cleavage that practically throbbed.

The bottoms were high-cut and criminally brief, hugging her plush hips and disappearing between her thick thighs. Her belly--round, soft, tan and perfect--spilled over the waistband just a little, jiggling with each breath. It gleamed from the lotion she'd applied earlier. She looked like a goddess made of curves and audacity.

She paused in front of the mirror and turned side to side, watching the fabric shift against her soft rolls, her thick ass straining the bikini ties to their limits. Her stomach led the way--round and warm and unashamed.

Let them look, she thought, biting her lip.

And then she descended.

The screen door slammed behind her as she stepped out onto the back porch. Conversations stopped. Drinks froze halfway to mouths.

Bryan choked on his beer.

Rob made a sound like air escaping a tire.

Mike's jaw visibly dropped. "Anita--what the hell--"

"You said swim," she said innocently, arms raised to stretch--tits jiggling gloriously, belly glistening in the dying light. "I brought my swimsuit."

"That's--that's what you packed?"

"Mmhmm." She adjusted the bottoms casually, tugging them higher on her hips and letting her belly jiggle free. "You didn't say there was a dress code."

"I can help with sunscreen!" Bryan shouted too quickly.

"Seconded," said Rob.

Anita smiled like a predator with a perfect pedicure.

And walked toward the dock.

The lake was warm and still, the last rays of sun painting the water in streaks of orange and gold. Anita stepped onto the dock with a towel slung over her shoulder, her belly bouncing with each barefoot step. She didn't wrap the towel around herself--why would she?

She dove in with a graceful splash, surfacing seconds later with a gasp and a slick toss of wet curls. The bikini clung tighter now, practically painted on. Her round belly shimmered, beads of water running down the curves of her chest and pooling in the deep canyon of cleavage.

She floated for a while, letting the cool water tease the heat off her skin. Then she spotted it: an oversized inflatable raft bobbing nearby, abandoned by Lindsay and her sangria. Anita grinned.

With deliberate effort, she hoisted herself up onto it--slowly, wet thighs slapping against the plastic, ass bouncing as she pulled herself into position. She lay back, belly rising like a soft, golden hill under the fading sun. Her breasts swayed to either side, heavy and inviting. The bottoms dug deliciously into her hips.

She caught Bryan watching from the dock.

Good.

A splash beside her made her glance down. Jason had swum closer, bobbing uncertainly in the water just beneath the float. His face was pink, as usual, his gaze flicking up--then back down--then up again.

"Hey," he said awkwardly.

"Hey, float patrol," she teased. "You planning to board me?"

"What? No! I mean--I was just... swimming."

She stretched, arms above her head, which arched her back and sent her tits up like twin blessings. Her belly peeked out further as the bikini rode higher.

Jason's eyes widened.

"You okay down there?" she asked sweetly.

"Y-yeah," he said, but his voice cracked--and just then, a gentle current pushed him forward.

His shoulders bumped the float... and his face ended up directly between her parted thighs, under the water.

Anita gasped--then bit her lip.

She didn't move.

He surfaced quickly, sputtering. "Sorry! I--I didn't mean to--"

"It's fine," she said, with a sly smile. "You're just very... buoyant."

Jason swam away in a confused panic, but not before glancing back one more time.

Anita closed her eyes, heart thudding, belly rising with every slow breath.

She was wet in more ways than one.

After drifting awhile, Anita decided to climb out--partly to stretch, partly to flaunt. Her arms reached up to grab the dock's edge, her heavy breasts swaying in the water, belly bobbing just beneath the surface like a lush, golden buoy.

"Need a hand?" Bryan asked, already crouched at the edge with Jason awkwardly beside him.

"Sure," Anita said, her voice syrupy sweet.

She pulled herself halfway up, and instantly both men reached down--hands wrapping around her slippery upper arms, then sliding lower.

Jason's hand gripped her thigh, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. Bryan's hand found her ass--barely covered by the bikini bottom--and gave it a squeeze under the guise of "support."

Neither let go quickly.

Anita paused--half out of the water, half on the dock--and let them linger. The lake dripped down her curves as she slowly brought one knee up, belly folding sweetly, ass tilted back into their grip.

Jason inhaled sharply. His hand slid just slightly up the back of her thigh, warm and shaking.

Bryan? He gave one more unapologetic squeeze before helping hoist her fully onto the dock.

She sat there for a moment, dripping, legs apart, belly glistening, bikini clinging tighter than skin. Both men stood above her, silent, panting a little.

"Thanks," she said, chest rising and falling.

"Anytime," Bryan muttered, eyes locked on the small bounce of her breasts.

Jason just nodded, mouth slightly open.

Neither one moved.

Anita stood slowly, the strings of her bikini bottoms cutting deliciously into the softness of her hips. She stretched, turning just enough to give both men another view of her wet ass as it jiggled under the tension of the fabric.

"You boys coming back in?" she asked, without turning.

Neither answered.

The dock boards were warm under Anita's bare feet, slick from lake spray and sun. She reached for a towel draped over a chair and began to pat herself dry--but slowly, deliberately, like she was in a shampoo commercial that would never air on cable.

The bikini top, now soaked and clinging to her chest, was utterly useless.

Her breasts--huge, heavy, gloriously round--strained against the thin neon fabric. The wetness had turned it transparent, revealing every slope, every curve, every dark, luscious detail.

And her nipples?

Monumental.

Thick and wide, each one the size of a thumb pad, hard as marbles, poking straight out like they were begging for tongues. The fabric clung so tightly to her chest it looked vacuum-sealed, molding around the shape of her areolas, which were large, dark, and unmistakably erect.

Bryan, still drying his hair with a T-shirt, just stopped and stared.

Rob made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a prayer.

Ken, manning the grill just a few feet away, was suddenly doing a lot of staring at the burgers.

"Oh, oops," Anita said, as she dabbed at her belly and somehow missed her chest entirely. "This top doesn't hide much when it's wet."

"Don't change a thing," Bryan mumbled, hypnotized.

She stretched again, arms overhead, which lifted her breasts into perfect, obscene roundness, and let her belly fold softly above her bikini bottoms. Her nipples pushed forward like they were straining to escape.

"You need help back there?" Lindsay's voice chimed in from behind, cool and casual. "With the sunscreen?"

Anita turned, towel in one hand, water still dripping down her thighs. "You volunteering?"

"Always," Lindsay said, stepping closer, her eyes locked on Anita's soaked chest.

Anita didn't say yes.

She didn't say no either.

She just smiled--and dropped the towel.

The boathouse sat at the edge of the lake like an afterthought--small, musty, filled with life jackets and the kind of secrets that only floated near the surface. Anita ducked inside, towel around her waist, the last golden light filtering through a dusty window.

She untied her bikini top slowly, letting the wet strings fall against her back. Her breasts tumbled free--big, heavy, nipples still swollen and hard from the swim. She caught her reflection in the tiny square mirror above the sink and smirked. Her belly jiggled gently with each breath, hips wide and begging for hands.

She was halfway through wriggling into a pair of tight jean shorts when the door creaked.

Jason.

He froze in the doorway, breath catching in his throat. She was topless, turned halfway, her round ass peeking out beneath the damp towel still slung at her hips.

"I--uh--I didn't know you were--"

"Changing?" she said, turning slowly, hands covering nothing. "You sure?"

Jason opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Anita took a step closer. Her breasts swayed, nipples bold and dark in the low light, fat and perfect and completely unhidden. Her belly shifted with each step, soft and warm and inviting.

"I mean... you already saw them once," she said, her voice low.

"I--I didn't mean to--" he stammered, but his eyes were glued to her chest.

She reached out, gently taking his hand. His palm was damp with sweat.

And then she guided it forward.

Right onto her bare breast.

His fingers splayed, slowly, as if memorizing the weight, the warmth, the soft heft of her. His thumb brushed her nipple--an accidental flick, but enough to make her inhale sharply.

For a moment, they stood frozen, her belly pressed lightly into his shirt, his hand cupping her completely.

Then he stepped back, nearly tripping over a tackle box. "I--I gotta--sorry--I--"

And he was gone, stumbling out into the evening air.

Anita stood alone, heartbeat hammering, nipples still hard and tingling where his touch lingered. She laughed softly, chest shaking.

Then she turned to the mirror and began buttoning her shorts, slow and sensual, watching herself the whole time.

She wasn't sorry.

Not even a little bit.

----------

The back porch had been transformed into game night chaos: empty wine bottles, half-eaten bags of chips, and a big cardboard game board sprawled across the table like a battleground. Everyone was loud and tipsy. Someone had lit citronella candles. Someone else had opened a second bottle of tequila.

"One rule," Bryan said, waving a red plastic die in the air. "If you land on a red square, you have to answer a personal question. If you land on blue, you take a drink. Land on green, and it's a dare."

"Who made up these rules?" Lindsay asked, perched on the arm of a chair with a drink that looked like it involved watermelon and danger.

"I did," Bryan said proudly. "They're terrible. Let's play."

Anita took a seat between Bryan and Jason, tucking her dress under her thighs, which were still bare and slightly damp from the lake. The chair was narrow. Her soft, warm legs pressed into both men. She didn't adjust.

Bryan leaned back with a grin. "You always sit in the best places."

"Just a lucky girl," Anita said sweetly.

Mike was across the table, chatting with Lindsay about card strategy, completely unaware of the slow, wicked game starting under his nose.

Anita sipped her wine and let her knees drift apart.

The dress inched up her thighs.

Jason noticed first. His hand froze where it rested on his lap. His eyes dropped--just for a second--then darted away. Anita said nothing.

Bryan's thigh bumped hers again. She didn't move away.

The dice passed to her. She picked them up delicately between her fingers and gave them a shake--her chest jiggling just enough to draw a whistle from Rob at the end of the table.

"You shake anything like that, you win the game already," he said, slurring slightly.

"Don't hate the player," Anita purred, then tossed the dice.

Red.

"Ooooh," Lindsay grinned. "Personal question. Let's see... Anita, what's the riskiest thing you've done in public?"

Anita smiled.

She could feel Jason's thigh trembling beside hers. Bryan had just let his hand rest "accidentally" against her leg.

"I'm more of a private girl," she lied, voice low and dangerous. "But tonight might be an exception."

The next few turns passed in a blur of laughter and wine refills. Someone knocked over a bowl of pretzels. Marge was retelling a story about Ken's disastrous jet ski incident. But Anita was barely listening.

She was focused on Jason's hand.

It rested stiffly on his thigh, close--too close. She leaned slightly toward him, her bare arm brushing his. Her thigh--soft, warm, still damp--pressed against his tightly.

Then, gently, slowly, she let her fingers brush over the back of his hand.

Jason twitched.

She didn't look at him. She just slid her hand beneath the tablecloth and placed it on his--gently pressing down.

His breathing hitched.

With deliberate grace, she guided his hand over. Onto her thigh.

Jason froze.

Anita said nothing. She laughed at something Lindsay said. Her face was bright, relaxed, the perfect picture of wholesome flirtation.

But under the table?

Jason's fingers were trembling against the soft skin of her inner thigh. His pinky brushed the edge of her panties--then stopped. Anita didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.

Her dress had ridden up again. Her legs spread a little wider.

Bryan, on her other side, glanced down--noticed the positioning. He didn't say anything.

He just slid his hand beneath the table too. Right onto her other thigh.

His grip was confident. Slow. He rubbed up and down the thick curve of her leg, fingers digging gently into the flesh near her hip. Anita let out a soft breath and took another sip of wine.

Two hands. Two men.

Both of them touching her under the table while the rest of the family chuckled over dares and trivia.

Her thighs were tingling. Her panties were soaked.

And she hadn't even rolled again.

Jason's hand was frozen beneath the table, trembling slightly. Anita spread her thighs another inch, breath steady, dress barely covering her lap. She shifted, just enough for the fabric to part.

No panties.

Jason's fingers brushed warm, bare skin.

He flinched--then froze.

His fingertips grazed higher. Slickness. Heat. Flesh.

Anita took another sip of wine and smiled faintly as his fingers slid between her folds, slow and terrified. She was soaking wet--practically pulsing. His touch sent a ripple of pleasure up her spine.

Across the table, Mike was gesturing wildly about some childhood board game rule. No one was watching.

Bryan glanced down, clocked the positioning, and smirked. His hand moved higher on Anita's other thigh. Her body twitched involuntarily.

Bryan leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You're sitting here with no panties while my cousin fingers your dripping pussy under a table full of your boyfriend's family."

She turned her head slightly, lips brushing his cheek.

"What's stopping you from joining him?"

Bryan didn't need another hint.

His hand slid beneath the tablecloth, under her dress, following the trail Jason's fingers had already made slick. He found her clit instantly, circling with practiced pressure.

Anita's eyes fluttered shut--just for a second.

Jason's fingers curled inside her, unsteady but eager. Bryan's moved in tighter, working her in rhythm. Two sets of hands, hidden under fabric, dipping and stroking, while she sat perfectly still at a family game night, moaning in her throat behind a sip of cabernet.

"Anita," Marge called from the other end of the table, "you're awful quiet! You okay, sweetheart?"

Anita blinked, smiled sweetly, and nodded. "Just... focused."

Focused on not moaning out loud as two men pleasured her beneath a floral tablecloth.

Anita's thighs trembled as Jason's fingers moved deeper--gentle, hesitant, but soaked. Bryan's touch was firmer, more confident, pressing circles against her clit that made her vision shimmer. Her entire lower half pulsed with arousal, wetness pooling beneath her.

Then Bryan's hand left her.

She glanced at him--just enough to see his smirk and the slight shifting of his hips under the table.

A faint zzzip reached her ears.

She felt his hand again--but this time, it wasn't on her thigh.

It grabbed hers.

And pulled it under the table.

Directly into his lap.

Her fingers wrapped instinctively around something hot and hard.

Bryan had unzipped, exposed himself, and placed her hand on his cock--thick, twitching, and already slick at the tip.

Anita didn't pull away.

She started to stroke him. Slowly. Rhythmically. The way you'd pet something dangerous.

Jason's fingers were still inside her--two now--moving carefully, his knuckles grazing her soaked heat while his thumb teased her entrance. She was so wet, so open, so close.

And still, across the table, Mike laughed at a story from Lindsay about college bar trivia.

Anita lifted her wineglass to her lips, her hand pumping in Bryan's lap, her thighs spread for Jason's hand. Her belly quivered with every tremor of pleasure. Her nipples, stiff and swollen, pushed hard against the fabric of her dress.

She took a long, slow sip.

Then moaned--softly--behind the rim of the glass.

Not loud enough for Mike.

But Bryan definitely heard it.

And Jason definitely felt it.

Jason's fingers were stroking deeper now, more confident, slipping effortlessly through Anita's folds as Bryan's cock throbbed in her hand. She matched the rhythm--tight strokes, slow and measured, gliding slick with precum.

Her legs quivered, inner thighs coated in heat. Her clit throbbed beneath Bryan's thumb. Every breath she took caught at the top, her body begging her to lose control.

"So Anita," Marge said suddenly, across the table, "how long have you been doing design work?"

Anita's eyes snapped up. She smiled brightly, despite the fire tearing through her core.

"Mmm... about four years now," she said, voice a breathy purr. "Mostly freelance. I love getting... hands-on."

Her belly tensed. Her thighs locked around Jason's wrist. Her toes curled in her sandals.

Jason looked up at her--eyes wide, frozen--as her pussy clenched around his fingers.

Anita came.

Quietly. Powerfully. With a slow exhale through her nose, her mouth parted in a faint smile. Her grip on Bryan's cock tightened. She stroked him once--twice more--before letting go.

Under the table, Jason's fingers stilled. Bryan's leg twitched.

Anita raised her napkin to her lips, dabbed delicately, and took another sip of wine.

"You're such a poised young woman," Marge said warmly.

"Thank you," Anita said, her voice honeyed and smooth. "I do my best to leave a good impression."

She leaned back in her chair, thighs still glistening under her dress, nipples stiff beneath the fabric.

Jason was staring at his hand like it belonged to someone else.

Bryan was biting his lip, half-hard and fully impressed.

Mike looked up. "Babe, you okay? You're kinda flushed."

"Just a little warm," Anita said, stretching slowly, breasts lifting high. "Might be time to freshen up."

She stood.

Every man at the table watched her go.

Not one of them knew the truth.

Except two.

----------

The morning light crept through the lace curtains, casting warm gold over the guest bed where Anita stirred. Her thighs rubbed together under the sheet, slick and sticky with last night's leftover arousal. Her pussy ached. Her nipples throbbed against the thin cotton tank top she'd worn to bed.

She stretched slowly, her soft belly lifting and folding as she rolled out of bed. The tank clung tightly to her curves--her breasts, massive and bare underneath, strained against the fabric. The neckline dipped low enough to reveal the soft rise of cleavage and the curve of her upper belly where the shirt rode up slightly.

Her pajama shorts were even worse--or better. Cotton, light gray, thin as sin. They hugged her wide hips and curved around her ass like they were stitched on wet. Her soft tummy bulged adorably over the waistband. The fabric inched between her thighs with every step.

She didn't bother with a bra.

Or panties.

The house was quiet, save for the low rumble of a coffeemaker.

Anita padded into the kitchen, the floor cool under her bare feet.

And there he was.

Uncle Rob.

Shirtless, tank top slung over one shoulder, standing at the counter with a steaming mug in one hand and a belly-scratch in the other. His thick, hairy arms flexed slightly as he raised the cup to his mouth. His eyes landed on her instantly.

"Well, good morning to that," he said, eyes crawling up her body like heat.

Anita smiled sleepily. "Morning, Rob."

Her breasts bounced freely with each step toward the counter. The tank top didn't even pretend to contain them anymore--her nipples were hard, clearly outlined. Her belly swayed slightly with each movement.

She reached into the cupboard for a mug, her tank lifting to expose soft, warm skin. Her shorts hugged her ass so tightly the curve of her cheeks were visible from beneath the hem.

Rob took a long, slow sip.

"Damn shame I'm not twenty years younger," he muttered, watching her like a dog watches a dripping steak.

Anita turned just enough for him to see the bounce in her belly and the tightness of her shorts from behind.

"I think you're doing just fine," she said, voice smooth as cream.

Anita leaned forward over the counter, reaching lazily for the tin of coffee. Her tank top slid up her back, exposing the soft curve of her lower belly and the beginning of the deep crease above her ass. Her shorts clung like second skin, the cotton pulled tight between her thick thighs.

Rob stood behind her, still holding his coffee--until he didn't.

He stepped in close. His hand--big, rough, warm--landed on her ass.

No warning. No apology.

Just a thick palm full of flesh, squeezing like he was checking ripeness.

Anita gasped.

But she didn't pull away.

His other hand joined the first, gripping both cheeks, spreading them just slightly through the thin fabric. Her shorts rode higher. Her belly pressed into the counter as she arched back, her body moving without thought, begging without a word.

"Jesus Christ," Rob muttered. "You're so fuckin' soft."

His fingers found the curve where her thigh met her ass, rubbing circles over the hem of her shorts. "You walk around like this on purpose, huh? Dressed like dessert?"

Anita tilted her head, breath catching. "Maybe I like being tasted."

Rob growled--growled--and grabbed her hips tighter, fingers digging into her skin through the fabric.

Her pussy pulsed.

Her nipples scraped hard against the inside of her tank.

She was soaking the crotch of her shorts--and Rob was just getting started.

Rob grabbed the waistband of Anita's shorts and yanked them down with a growl, bunching the cotton just below her ass. Her soft cheeks spilled out, round and warm and jiggling, thighs thick and plush. Her pussy glistened in the morning light--bare, wet, waiting.

"Fuckin' hell," Rob muttered, stroking his cock as he stared at the perfect curve of her. "You're soaked."

Anita moaned, face against the cool countertop. "Don't stop."

He lined himself up behind her--his thick shaft hot and heavy--and pushed inside with one slow, greedy thrust.

Anita gasped, her whole body jolting forward. Her belly pressed against the counter, her tits bouncing inside the tight tank as Rob filled her up.

"Goddamn, girl," he grunted, grabbing her wide hips and pounding into her, hard and fast. Her ass rippled with each slap of his pelvis, the soft flesh clapping loud in the echoing kitchen. "You're fuckin' perfect."

His hands were everywhere--slapping her ass, gripping her hips, reaching up to grab a fistful of her jiggling tit through the tank top. Her nipple was stiff, poking against the thin fabric. He twisted it, making her cry out.

"Look at you," he groaned. "Big fuckin' belly bouncing... tits all over the place... takin' it like a filthy bitch."

Anita could barely breathe. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, thighs quaking. Her belly shook with every deep thrust, smacking softly against the counter. Her ass jiggled like it had its own rhythm.

"Yes," she moaned. "More. Fuck me harder."

Rob snarled and bent over her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the counter as he pounded her deeper. The sound of their bodies smacking filled the kitchen--wet, primal, shameless.

"You like gettin' used, don't you?" he hissed in her ear.

"Yes," she moaned again, helpless. "I want it--I need it--"

His cock slammed into her, deeper now, faster, her juices dripping down her thighs. Her tank rode up past her belly, exposing everything--tits out, ass shaking, mouth open, tongue wet on the counter's edge.

She was being fucked like a whore... and she never wanted it to end.

Rob's thrusts grew erratic, his grip bruising her hips, his cock throbbing inside her with each filthy slam. Anita was moaning nonstop now, her fat ass bouncing, tits jiggling violently with every slam. Her belly clapped against the counter, slick with sweat and slicker with arousal.

"Fuck," Rob gasped. "I'm--gonna--"

He pulled out just in time, his cock twitching as thick spurts of cum sprayed across her ass, her lower back, even dripping onto the curve of her hip. He groaned low and primal, staggering back to admire the mess he'd made.

Anita stayed bent, gasping, legs trembling. Her shorts were still around her thighs, her tank bunched under her tits, nipples red and hard. Her back and cheeks glistened with streaks of Rob's release, her pussy still twitching, leaking down her inner thighs.

"Fuck me," Rob muttered. "You're a goddamn masterpiece."

He grabbed a dish towel from the hook and swiped it across her back, slow and lazy. The towel came away sticky. Anita shivered.

"You good?" he asked, voice hoarse.

She nodded, still breathless. "So good."

Then--

Footsteps.

Her eyes snapped open.

Rob moved fast, tossing the towel aside. Anita yanked her shorts back up, wincing at the sensation of cum still dripping down her legs. She tugged her tank down over her tits just as--

"Morning," Mike said, yawning as he walked into the kitchen. "Smells like coffee. You guys up early?"

Anita turned, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, tank crooked over her breasts.

"Couldn't sleep," she said sweetly.

Rob leaned on the counter, cool as hell, sipping his mug. "Yeah. Real... active morning."

Mike yawned again, completely oblivious.

Anita sat at the breakfast table, one leg crossed over the other, coffee steaming in her hands. Her tank top was rumpled and damp where sweat clung to the curve of her breasts. Her shorts stuck slightly to her inner thighs--she could still feel the warm, wet trickle of Rob's cum cooling against her skin.

Mike sat beside her, scrolling through his phone and mumbling something about making pancakes.

"Sounds great," Anita said, sipping slowly, lips curling into a secret smile.

Across the kitchen, Rob leaned casually against the counter, still shirtless, still smug. His eyes found hers briefly--and he winked.

Anita hid a laugh behind her mug.

Then the door creaked again, and Jason stepped in.

He stopped mid-step. His eyes locked on Anita instantly, then flicked to Rob, then back.

He knew.

Anita didn't blink. She just stirred her coffee slowly, then lifted the spoon to her lips and licked it. Slowly. Deliberately.

Jason's mouth parted.

Rob pushed off the counter and strolled past her, pausing just long enough to give her ass a quick, low slap through her shorts.

Smack.

Anita giggled--quiet, but unmistakably pleased.

"Told you this family's fun," she murmured.

----------

The lakehouse buzzed with the kind of lazy, quiet energy that followed a night of heavy drinks and light sleep. Morning passed into afternoon without much happening--aside from Anita's still-tingling thighs and the secret stickiness of dried cum beneath her shorts.

She lounged on a patio chair in the same tight tank top and pajama shorts she'd worn earlier--cleaned up just enough to be casual. No bra, of course. Her heavy tits swayed freely beneath the fabric, nipples pressing obviously against the cotton every time she moved. Her shorts rode up constantly, revealing soft, thick thighs and the gentle curve of her belly peeking from under the shirt.

She stretched often. For no reason at all.

Mike was preoccupied--helping his dad with yard work and getting sunburnt in the process. He didn't notice the way Anita leaned into conversations, touched people's arms when she laughed, or let her tank top shift dangerously low when she bent to pick up a dropped towel.

Marge noticed.

"Need a hand, sweetie?" she asked, reaching into the cooler while Anita dried off her arms after a brief swim.

"Nope," Anita said, smiling sweetly--then stepped behind her to "make room."

Her hand slid briefly--just a quick squeeze--across Marge's ass.

Marge flinched. Looked at her.

Anita smiled. "Oops. Tight squeeze back here."

Marge blinked. Then turned away, cheeks slightly pink.

Anita licked a drop of lemonade off her lip and settled back into her chair.

She was calm. Casual. Queenlike.

Her pussy still ached.

Her nipples throbbed.

And no one--not Mike, not Marge, not anyone--could stop her from what came next.

The sun had dipped low, casting a warm orange hue across the lake. A ring of camp chairs circled the fire pit, flickers of flame dancing in bottles and glasses. Someone brought out tequila again. The stories got louder, sloppier.

"Let's play Truth or Dare," Lindsay announced, already leaning into Bryan with a giggle.

Groans and laughter followed--oh no, not again, we're too old for this--but one by one, they gave in.

Anita slid into a seat beside Mike, still in her tank and shorts. Her tits swayed freely under the thin top, nipples bold and proud under the cotton, drawing every eye--except Mike's, who was focused on pouring two plastic cups of wine.

"Anita," Bryan grinned. "Truth or dare?"

She smirked. "Dare."

"Easy," Bryan said. "Lose a piece of clothing."

A chorus of oooohs and laughter followed. Even Marge gave a mock gasp.

Mike looked up. "Wait--no. Come on, guys. Seriously?"

Anita looked at him, slow and amused.

"It's just a game, babe."

Then, with theatrical grace, she reached down, gripped the hem of her tank top, and lifted.

Her breasts spilled out instantly--massive, heavy, soft and full. They jiggled with the motion, bare and breathtaking, nipples thick and dark and stiff with arousal. The firelight cast gold across the slopes of her chest, flickering shadows in the deep curve between them.

Silence.

Even the flames seemed to pause.

Rob nearly dropped his beer. Bryan choked on his laughter. Lindsay said, "Holy shit," under her breath.

Mike blinked in disbelief. "Anita--what the hell?"

She turned to him, tits bouncing slightly as she shifted. "Lighten up," she said, casually stretching her arms behind her head, making her breasts rise high and round. "You've seen them before."

Across the fire, Ken was openly staring.

Anita grinned.

She hadn't even started.

"Alright," Lindsay said, grinning wickedly. "Next dare... Anita, sit on someone's lap 'til your next turn. Dealer's choice."

Anita raised an eyebrow and stretched her arms above her head. Her bare breasts lifted high, nipples pointing slightly upward, jiggling with the motion. She glanced around the circle slowly.

"Hmm..." she said, eyes narrowing.

Bryan leaned forward expectantly. Rob patted his thigh.

But Anita turned her gaze to Ken--Mike's dad--who sat still, drink halfway to his mouth, eyes wide on her chest.

"Ken," she said sweetly, "you comfy over there?"

Ken coughed. "Uh--yeah. Sure. I--yeah."

Anita rose slowly, her belly rippling, shorts clinging to her thick thighs. She stepped across the circle, her bare tits swaying with every step. No one said a word. Mike opened his mouth--but nothing came out.

She straddled Ken's lap front-on, knees on either side of his hips. Her heavy breasts dangled inches from his face, nipples almost grazing his collarbone. Her belly pressed into his chest. Her ass settled into his lap.

He was already hard. She could feel it through his shorts.

"Comfortable?" she asked him, voice sultry.

"Y-yeah," Ken said. His hands hovered near her hips, unsure. Shaking.

Anita rolled her hips once--slow and deliberate.

Ken let out a quiet grunt. His hands landed on her waist. She didn't stop him.

"Jesus Christ," Rob muttered from the other side of the fire.

"Anita," Mike hissed. "What are you doing?"

She smiled over her shoulder. "Just playing the game, babe."

Ken's hands slid lower--onto her ass. He gripped.

Anita moaned softly. Not a joke. Not an act.

Her belly squished against his chest. Her tits bounced with every slight motion. She leaned forward slightly, letting one nipple brush against the side of Ken's jaw.

"Oops," she whispered.

"Okay," Lindsay said, breathless, cheeks flushed as Anita slowly rocked in Ken's lap. "Anita... truth or dare?"

Anita didn't even look away from Mike as she answered: "Dare."

"Kiss a girl," Lindsay grinned, trying to stay cool. "Like you mean it."

Anita slid off Ken's lap with a roll of her hips and a final grind, leaving him panting and adjusting himself. She crossed the fire pit in slow motion, her tits bouncing freely with each barefoot step, nipples still tight and dark in the flickering firelight.

"Gladly," she purred.

Lindsay blinked. "Wait, I didn't mean me--"

Too late.

Anita straddled her right there on the lawn chair, belly pressed against Lindsay's stomach, tits flattening against Lindsay's chest. She reached up and cupped Lindsay's face--soft, commanding--and pulled her into a deep, wet kiss.

Tongues met. Moans escaped.

Anita rocked her hips subtly, grinding her ass against Lindsay's thighs. Her tits jiggled and slid across Lindsay's skin with every shift. One nipple dragged up Lindsay's tank top strap. Another brushed her collarbone.

The fire popped. Nobody made a sound.

Rob stared openly. Bryan looked like he was about to pass out. Mike's eyes were wide with silent horror.

Anita broke the kiss slowly, panting. Her lips were wet.

Lindsay's mouth stayed open, dazed.

"That feel like I meant it?" Anita asked.

She didn't wait for an answer.

She stood up, tits bouncing high, and turned back to the group.

Nobody said a thing.

They just watched her... and waited.

"Final round," Bryan slurred, holding up a blanket someone had dragged over for warmth. "Mystery dare--under the blanket. Three people. One truth. One dare. One... surprise."

Groans. Laughter. Anita raised her hand.

"I'm in," she said, tits still bouncing freely as she bent to grab her wine.

"Who else?" someone asked.

Anita smiled, slow and dangerous. "Ken and Marge."

There was a beat of silence. Then nervous laughter.

"Well," Ken said, cheeks flushed, "guess we're playing along."

Marge didn't object--just blinked fast and followed them as Anita pulled the blanket over all three.

The world outside disappeared. Inside the blanket: darkness, heat, the smell of wine and lake water and sweat.

Anita's hand slid immediately onto Marge's thigh--soft, warm, hesitant.

"You okay?" Anita whispered.

Marge didn't speak. But her legs parted.

At the same time, Ken's hand was already creeping up Anita's shorts again. He knew the way. He slid between her thighs, fingers thick and confident.

Anita moaned--quietly, muffled, but real.

She curled her fingers under Marge's waistband, feeling heat and slickness. Marge's breath hitched, her hand clamping down on Anita's arm--but not stopping her.

Anita slipped two fingers between her lips and began to rub.

Ken's fingers were inside Anita now, thick and knuckle-deep, working in time with every pulse of her hips.

Above the blanket, Mike was chatting with Rob about old fishing spots.

Below it, his girlfriend was fingering his mother.

And getting fingered by his dad.

The only sound from under the blanket was Anita's breath--shaky, shallow, desperate--and a faint squelch of wet skin on skin.

"Time's up," someone called.

The blanket lifted. Anita surfaced first, flushed, hair a mess, tits jiggling freely as she sat up, adjusting her shorts.

Marge stayed seated, legs crossed tight, eyes downcast. Ken just wiped his fingers on his shorts and took a long drink.

----------

The blanket was barely back on the chair before Anita stood, body glowing with sweat and sin, breasts heavy and glistening under the firelight. She caught Bryan's eye across the fire. His pupils were wide. His cock was clearly hard in his shorts.

She didn't say a word.

She just took his hand.

He followed.

They slipped away from the group, laughter still echoing behind them. The screen door creaked. The gravel crunched beneath their feet. The garage door was already ajar.

They stepped inside.

The moment it closed behind them, Anita was on him--mouth to mouth, tits pressed against his chest, her soft belly squishing against his stomach. She pulled him toward the workbench, tongue deep in his mouth, moaning softly as his hands roamed over her wide hips.

"You're fucking incredible," he whispered. "Like... you're unreal."

She smiled against his lips. "Show me."

He did.

Bryan dropped to his knees in front of her, hands gripping her thick thighs as he kissed the inside of one with reverence. Her sundress had ridden up already, bunching above her waist. Her belly spilled softly over the top of her shorts, jiggling with every breath.

He kissed her knee. Her thigh. Her belly.

"God, you're so soft," he groaned, pressing his cheek into her belly like it was a pillow. "You smell like sweat and wine and I fucking love it."

She giggled, breath catching, as he licked her navel.

"Don't stop," she murmured, fingers running through his hair.

He stood and peeled the dress down, her massive breasts falling free again--naked, heavy, the nipples dark and stiff from arousal. He cupped them, lifted them, sucked one into his mouth with a desperate hunger.

"Bryan--" she gasped, arching into him, her soft stomach pressing against his hard cock through his shorts.

"You're a fucking dream," he growled, pinching one nipple, kneading her belly. "Everything about you... fuck."

His hand slid between her thighs.

She was already soaked.

The air inside the garage grew thicker--hot with sweat, breath, the sticky scent of arousal. Anita lay back on a storage bench now, dress bunched at her hips, one leg hooked lazily over Bryan's shoulder as he licked and kissed between her thighs. Her tits spilled to the sides, nipples hard and slick with saliva.

She moaned. Loud enough to carry.

The door creaked again.

Jason stepped in--cautious, wide-eyed. He froze at the sight before him: Anita, flushed and wet, Bryan's mouth buried in her pussy, her thighs trembling with each lick.

Her eyes met Jason's. She didn't stop.

"Close the door," she said, voice breathy.

He did.

Then, slowly, like pulled by gravity, he walked to her side.

Anita reached for him--one hand sliding up his shirt, the other grabbing his wrist. She guided him to his knees beside her, belly jiggling as she shifted.

Jason leaned in and kissed the slope of her belly, soft and reverent. He moaned quietly against her skin, both hands resting on her hips.

"You're so... fuck," he breathed. "You're unreal."

She smiled and grabbed his hair, guiding his lips upward. He kissed across her belly, then her ribs, then the underside of one tit.

Her nipple dragged across his cheek as he kissed higher. He turned and took it into his mouth, sucking gently while Bryan's tongue drove her mad between her legs.

"That's it," she gasped, arching. "Both of you--don't stop--"

Jason's hand slid over her chest, then down her side, fingertips brushing her belly as it tensed and jiggled from pleasure. His other hand cupped her free breast, squeezing as he kissed her collarbone.

Anita turned and kissed his lips, moaning into his mouth.

Her thighs shook.

Her belly rippled with every thrust of Bryan's tongue.

And she didn't want it to end.

The door opened again.

Ken and Rob entered, mid-conversation--until they saw what waited inside.

Anita spread wide on the bench, her tits being kissed by Jason, her pussy devoured by Bryan, her soft belly rising and falling as she gasped with pleasure.

The men stopped only for a moment.

Then Rob laughed low in his throat and stripped his shirt off. "Well, fuck. Looks like we're late."

"Not too late," Anita panted, her eyes glittering in the dim light.

Ken was already unbuckling his belt. His cock stood hard in his boxers, twitching as he stepped toward her. "You're... unbelievable," he murmured, reaching out.

His hands settled on her soft belly. He stroked it slowly, reverently, like a sacred thing. His fingers spread over her curves, pressing gently into the warmth and plushness.

"You're perfect," he whispered. "Every fucking inch of you."

Rob dropped to his knees behind the bench, grabbed Anita's thick thighs, and kissed them--long, wet kisses that trailed toward her ass. He squeezed her cheeks in both hands, growling into the softness.

"Look at this fuckin' body," he muttered. "You were made to be used."

Anita moaned louder, lifting her hips, offering more.

Bryan rose to his feet, his face slick. "She's ready."

Rob stood and slapped his cock against her belly, grinning. Jason stroked himself, eyes locked on her bouncing breasts. Ken leaned in to suckle one nipple, his hand still worshipping the round swell of her stomach.

Anita reached out with both hands and wrapped her fingers around two shafts.

"Come on," she moaned. "I want all of you."

The garage door creaked once more.

Lindsay stood there--frozen for a moment in the doorway, her breath catching at the sight of Anita, spread and glistening, surrounded by the men of the family like a throne of heat and muscle.

Anita looked up at her, hair wild, lips wet, tits still being kissed and fondled from both sides.

She didn't speak.

She just reached one hand out.

Lindsay stepped in.

She walked to the edge of the bench and dropped to her knees beside Anita. Her hands slid softly up the outside of Anita's thigh, over the curve of her hip, resting at the base of her belly.

"You're so... beautiful," she whispered, almost ashamed to say it aloud.

Anita grabbed her by the hair and pulled her in gently for a kiss--tongue, wet and slow, bodies pressing together.

While Anita jerked Jason and Bryan off in each hand, her legs parted further, Ken's fingers still teasing her slit while Rob pushed his cock between her tits, thrusting into the soft valley between them.

Lindsay leaned down and began kissing Anita's belly--slow, soft kisses that turned into a wet trail up toward her breasts. She cupped one, then the other, licking a nipple as she moaned.

"Good girl," Anita whispered, stroking her hair.

"You're unreal," Lindsay breathed, pressing her lips to the side of Anita's breast, one hand roaming her soft stomach, the other rubbing small circles into her thigh.

"Don't stop," Anita moaned, her voice desperate. "I want more."

Bryan moved behind her. Jason knelt beside Lindsay, sucking a nipple while Ken buried his fingers deeper between her thighs. Rob came again between her tits with a grunt, coating her soft chest with cum that glistened against her skin.

Anita cried out, the pleasure unbearable.

Anita lay back across the workbench like a feast. Her soft body gleamed with sweat and spit and Rob's thick cum streaked across her tits. Her belly rose and fell, plush and perfect. Her thighs were spread wide--wet, trembling, eager.

"Take me," she whispered. "All of you. One at a time."

Bryan went first. He stepped between her legs, cock slick with pre-cum, and entered her slowly--burying himself deep in her dripping warmth. Anita gasped, thighs trembling as her belly bounced softly with each thrust. Lindsay kissed her lips while Jason kissed her breasts. Bryan grunted, slammed harder, and finished deep inside her with a stifled groan.

Jason replaced him immediately. He knelt on the bench, lifting Anita's thighs, holding her belly as it bounced beneath him. He moaned her name as he pumped inside her, face twisted in awe. He pulled out and finished across her navel, ropes of cum streaking her soft stomach.

Rob grabbed her waist next. "My fuckin' turn," he growled, flipping her onto all fours. Her big ass jiggled with every slap of his hips. Her tits dangled, nipples swollen, brushing the bench. He fucked her rough, gripping her thick love handles, and came with a snarl--splattering her lower back.

Ken took her hand gently. "Lie back, sweetheart. Let me in."

He was slow, reverent. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her breasts. He fucked her gently, whispering praises: "So soft... so beautiful..."

He came while kissing her deeply, filling her again.

Anita was breathless, moaning, wet everywhere.

Then Lindsay mounted her face, thighs on either side of her head, and rode her tongue. Anita licked greedily, hands caressing Lindsay's ass and belly. Lindsay came hard, screaming Anita's name, then collapsed beside her.

The five of them surrounded her now--breathless, dripping, still stunned.

Anita, belly and breasts glistening, cum painting her thighs, hair wild and mouth slick, lay in the center of it all like a crowned goddess.

Jason kissed her cheek.

Bryan rubbed her belly with both hands and whispered, "You're perfect."

Rob slapped her thigh. "Best fucking family reunion ever."

Ken wiped her brow with a cloth.

Lindsay kissed her nipples.

Outside, Mike roasted marshmallows by the fire, oblivious to the coronation.

Inside, Anita grinned.

She was the Family Slut.

----------

The morning sun lit the lakehouse in soft gold. Birds chirped. Waves lapped at the dock. It was peaceful.

And inside, Anita was saying goodbye.

Mike carried their bags out to the car, rubbing his eyes, muttering about how tired he was. "Too much wine last night," he said, yawning.

"Mmm," Anita replied, slipping past him into the kitchen for one last sip of coffee--and one last goodbye.

Rob was there, leaning on the counter.

She reached behind him like she was grabbing a paper towel and whispered, "One last squeeze?"

He grinned and slapped her ass hard. She turned, lifted her dress just slightly, and let him grope her bare cheek while she giggled.

"Keep in touch, sweetheart," he said, voice low.

In the hallway, Jason caught her arm and kissed her neck. "I'll never forget this," he whispered, hand sliding under her dress to brush her thigh.

Bryan hugged her tight at the door, grinding his morning wood briefly against her stomach as Mike returned to the car.

Ken held her hand and looked almost reverent. "You really are something," he said.

Marge gave her a kiss on the cheek and a firm squeeze on the waist. "Come visit soon, Anita. Real soon."

Then Lindsay appeared behind her, still in her pajamas, eyes half-lidded, lips parted.

"You leaving already?" she asked, voice husky.

"Unfortunately," Anita said, stepping close.

Lindsay didn't wait. She cupped Anita's face and kissed her deeply--slow, full tongue, hands sliding down Anita's sides to her hips, then lower. The kiss lingered long enough to leave both of them breathless.

"You're mine next time," Lindsay whispered against her lips.

"Deal," Anita said, grinning.

As the car pulled out of the driveway, Mike smiled at her from the driver's seat.

"You were amazing this weekend," he said. "My parents loved you."

Anita leaned back, sunglasses on, dress rumpled, no bra.

"I loved them too," she said, licking her lips.

She didn't look back.

She didn't have to.

She was the family slut now.

And she'd be back.