Let them come

The balcony chair was old wood, creaky with too many coats of paint, and K sat low in it, legs spread slightly, back relaxed against the frame. Her arms rested on either side, loose and idle, her head tilted lazily as she looked out over the city. Her shirt was tugged up beneath her collarbone, her chest bare, pushed forward by the weight and slope of her breasts. They sprawled across her lap and beyond, soft and massive, the curves catching the low light in ways that made it hard to look anywhere else.

Her chest was a mess—thick streaks of drying cum layered like spilled cream across the tops and sides, glistening ribbons trailing from one breast to the other, and cloudy splatter catching in the folds beneath. Her skin was flushed from hands and friction. Some men used her cleavage. Others found side folds, lifting and pinning with practiced hands like they were handling some exotic sex toy made of living warmth. She didn’t assist, didn’t guide. She simply offered—and let them use what they wanted.

Liam stood off to the side, arms crossed like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He watched another man step up, unzip, and wedge himself into the soft space beneath her left breast. The angle didn’t even seem sexual anymore—just mechanical. A routine. Like K was furniture, or a station.

Liam looked back at her face. She was watching the skyline, not the men.

“You always wanted to be seen,” he said quietly.

K smiled. “No. I wanted to stop being misunderstood.”

“I don’t get it,” he admitted.

She turned to him now, amused. “You do. You just don’t want to.”

A wet slap sounded below her collar as another man came, groaning quietly, his release spilling onto a stain that hadn’t even dried yet. K didn’t blink. She didn’t acknowledge him. She just kept looking at Liam, her eyes curious and calm.

“I still think about you sometimes,” Liam said.

She tilted her head. “That sounds sweet.”

“I mean the old you.”

Her smile didn’t waver, but something in her eyes cooled. “You mean the quiet girl with the oversized hoodie and panic attacks before gym class?”

He hesitated.

“You liked her more because she was trying to hide,” she said. “Made her feel safer. Easier to fantasize about.”

Liam’s voice dropped. “She was real.”

“I’m more real now,” she said.

Another man stepped up, his fingers greasy from food or sweat or both, and without a word, pushed her right breast upward, kneading it from underneath until he found a crease deep enough to grind into. K sighed—not in pleasure, but like she was finally getting a break from conversation.

Liam’s gaze fell. Her chest shimmered. So much use. So much filth. The sheer size of her made every act more excessive, more focused. Her body was a surface to mark, a space to lose yourself in.

“I don’t know if I should be jealous,” he said, half-laughing. “Or ashamed.”

“You should be honest,” K said. “With yourself.”

He looked up, brow furrowed. “About what?”

She leaned forward slightly, just enough to send a new drip sliding from her nipple down into the soft divide between her ribs.

“That you want to fuck my tits like the rest of them,” she said. “But you also want to believe you’re different.”

The man finished beneath her right breast. She barely noticed. Just looked at Liam like she was trying to see how much of him was still pretending.

“You’re not,” she said, but there was no cruelty in it. Just truth.

Liam’s hands clenched at his sides.

“But I like talking to you,” she added. “Even if you don’t know what to do with me.”

He sat beside her, hesitantly, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body. He could smell it now—sex and sweat and lotion and something rawer underneath. He didn’t say anything.

K didn’t look at him. Just leaned back again, breasts heaving slightly with breath, as another man approached without speaking.

“Just stay a while,” she said softly. “Let them have my body. You can have the part they ignore.”

He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better. Or worse.