And another one

I stayed leaning on the railing, tits still pushed together, the thin fabric of my tank top clinging to skin slick with spit and cum. The cold made my nipples harder. Or maybe it was the attention.

One of the smokers still hadn’t moved. The quieter one. He’d stayed out here since the first guy, eyes mostly averted—but not really. I could feel him watching. Not openly. Just... absorbing.

After a while, he finally spoke. Voice low. Careful.

“You mind if I record the next one?”

I looked over. He just held up his phone, thumb already hovering over the record button.

I stared for a second, then let the straps of my tank top slide down, letting my tits spill out—huge, heavy, slick. They shifted under their own weight, soft and flushed in the cold night air. My skin glistened, the cum half-dried in the deep valley between them.

He hit record.

Nothing else was said.

A few minutes passed before the next guy stepped outside. I didn’t know him either. Maybe early twenties, messy hair, flushed cheeks. He stopped short when he saw me—top down, tits bare, cum-streaked and exposed, a stranger filming from the corner like it was normal.

He looked at me. Then at the guy filming. Then back at me.

“You good?”

I didn’t answer. Just cupped my tits and squeezed them together. That was enough.

He unzipped, pulled out a stiff, curved cock already leaking at the tip, and stepped in like it was his turn in line. I dropped to a slight crouch against the railing, positioning the weight of my tits just right. When he pushed himself between them, I heard the guy filming take a quiet breath—one of those sharp, pathetic exhales people make when they’re trying not to groan.

The new guy started thrusting—slow, steady, feeding himself between the softest part of me while the other one filmed from a few feet away. No words. No instructions. Just that quiet, wet slap of skin on skin, my tits catching and sliding over his cock like they were made to do it.

The camera zoomed in. I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye. Slow, deliberate. He was focusing on the entrance and exit—how little of that cock showed before being swallowed again. Then a pause, then a wider shot. Capturing the mess. The aftermath. The casual filth of it all.

Inside the party, someone was singing. Badly. People were laughing. I caught sight of my family member again, still in the same spot, still thankfully facing the other direction.

The guy between my tits let out a sharp grunt, hips twitching as he came hard—fat streaks across my chest, mixing with the others, dripping down into the deep line of cleavage he’d just fucked.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t wipe off. Just tucked himself away and gave me a little nod before slipping back inside.

The guy with the phone stepped forward and showed me the screen—slow motion replay of the thrusting, a sticky string stretching from the head of that cock to my tits.