The party was already in full swing when I stepped into the living room. A dozen muscular men filled the space, all of them built like they lived at the gym or had their life doing manual labour, all of them salt-and-pepper in the hair and stubble. My stepfather sat in the middle of the couch like a king, legs spread, drink in hand, watching me with that half-smile he always wore when he knew something was about to happen.

My shorts were microscopic, the thin fabric stretched so tight over my giant ass that every step made the cheeks bounce and jiggle. The waistband sat low on my hips, barely covering the top of my crack. Above that, my breasts strained against a tiny crop top that was already riding up. My bra was fighting a losing battle; the underwire dug into the undersides of my heavy tits, and the cups were so full they threatened to spill out with every sway. I wasn’t wearing panties. I hadn’t worn any since morning because my pussy had been leaking nonstop, slick dripping down my inner thighs in thin, shiny trails.