“No… she’s mine,” Jo asserts…

“No… she’s mine,” Jo asserts as he lifts you easily onto his lap. It catches you off guard. His cock slides between your thighs and rests against your pussy lips. His cock—your former cock—feels enormous like this. Your eyes widen as the enormity of your situation registers.

Thick, hot, velvet flesh lies flush along the length of your swollen slit, the bulbous head pulsing right against your tiny erect clit with every slow throb of his heartbeat. You feel so wet, the head gliding distractingly whenever either of you shifts even a fraction. The contrast is incredibly arousing to you: your tiny body perched on top of this towering frame you used to inhabit, your short curvaceous legs splayed wide over his muscular thighs, your heavy breasts buoyant and bobbing in the churning hot tub water, nipples so tight they ache with every breath.

You try to keep still. You really do.

But the water jets pulse against your slim back, rocking you slightly, the heat seeps into every sore muscle Jo earned snowplowing all day making holding one position a constant battle… and your traitor body keeps rocking instinctively in tiny, helpless little motions—forward, back, forward—like it’s trying to find the perfect angle to let that fat head nudge just inside. You need it so bad. But you don’t want it. Fucking Rolling Stones.

Jo’s big hands settle confidently on your hips, not forcing, just… holding. Claiming. Controlling. It’s driving you wild. His thumbs stroke the sensitive skin just above your pubic bone while his fingers dig lightly into the soft flesh above your ass. Every knowingly guiding press makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

Across the tub Mark watches with heavy-lidded interest, one arm draped around Kate. Kate’s eyes are locked on where your bodies join under the surface—on the way your lips part around the thick ridge of cock every time you breathe wrong. She bites her lower lip, shifts against Mark’s side. You can see her nipples are peaked above the waterline too. Mark grins as he lifts Kate up onto his own lap, mirroring your positions.

“You always did look good riding a cock Jo,” Mark says, voice low and amused. “So does Kate… Some things never change.”

Jo’s laugh rumbles through his chest and into your back. “She’s not riding anything yet.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “Are you, princess?”

The word hits like a spark straight to your clit. You whimper—small, involuntary, embarrassingly girly—and your hips jerk forward before you can stop them. The head of his cock catches, notches, stretches your entrance the tiniest amount. Nestling. He could be inside you with a simple thrust.

You freeze.

Jo doesn’t move. Doesn’t thrust. Just lets you feel it: the blunt pressure, the promise of stretch, the way your walls are already trying to suck him deeper even though you swore—swore—you weren’t going to let this happen. You were a man. Not some needy little slut… right now things couldn’t be further from that.

Your hands fly to his forearms, nails digging in. “Jo… Jack wait…”

“Shhh.” One of his hands slides up your belly, cups the underside of one breast, thumb circling the nipple slow and deliberate. “You’re so hot and ripe baby. This sweet little pussy knows exactly what it wants.”

You shake your head, but it’s weak. The denial dies somewhere in your throat when he flexes his hips—just enough to let another inch sink inside.

Your mouth drops open in a silent cry. He’s inside you. His cock. Your pussy. It feels so good, so right.

It’s too much and not enough. Your body remembers this cock from the other side—knows how it feels to push in, how tight Jo gets when she’s really turned on—but experiencing it from this side is entirely different. Every ridge, every vein, drags against places that make your vision spark. Your clit grinds against his pubic bone and the pressure is electric.

Mark matches Jo as Kate lowers inexorably onto his cock. “Look at her face, Kate. She’s trying so hard to pretend she doesn’t love it.”

Kate makes a soft, sympathetic sound that turns into a contented moan. “Poor thing,” she mutters abstractly. She couldn’t give a fuck about you right now with Mark’s cock gradually filling you.

Jo’s voice stays calm, almost gentle, even as he sinks another slow inch. “She’s not empty anymore.”

You **** on a gasp as he bottoms out—slowly, inexorably, stretching you so wide your thighs tremble. Your head falls back against his shoulder; your hands clutch at his wrists like they’re the only thing keeping you sane.

He stays buried. Doesn’t move. Just lets you adjust, lets you feel every thick inch owning you from the inside while the jets pulse and the snow falls silently beyond the deck lights.

Then—very softly—he speaks against your neck.

“Tell them whose cock is inside you right now, princess.”

Your voice cracks on the first try. “Y-yours…”

“Louder.”

“Yours,” you gasp, louder this time, cheeks burning. “It’s… it’s your cock.”