Wait until dinner!

Now that the whole Dad situation had resolved itself in my mind—he was happy, we should support him, end of story—my thoughts circled back to the thing that had been consuming me since this morning. Since Jenn first confirmed it. Since I first HEARD about it.

Robbie's cock.

It was HERE. In my HOUSE. Attached to Robbie, obviously, but—it was within reach. Within touching distance. Within tasting distance. All I had to do was get him upstairs, get him alone, get those pants off, and I could finally—FINALLY—see it. Touch it. Learn its shape with my hands. Feel the weight of it. See if everything Jenn said was true,if the thing between his legs was really the kind of cock that could ruin a girl for anything else.

My pussy was already tingling just thinking about it. A low, persistent warmth between my thighs that had been building since I walked through the door. God, I loved cock. I loved EVERYTHING about cock. The look of them, the feel of them, the smell of skin and musk, the way they responded to touch—growing, hardening, twitching. The visual of a cockhead pushing through a foreskin, or the way a thick shaft could stretch you open, fill you completely—

I needed to get him upstairs.

I tried to be subtle about it. Tried to be casual. Tried not to sound like a desperate, cock-hungry freak even though that's exactly what I was.

"So, um—" I tucked a strand of red hair behind my ear, hoping I looked casual and not absolutely pathetic. "Robbie, do you want to, like... come see my room? I have—I have this project I wanted to show you. From, um. From class. The science thing."

Smooth, Katie. Real smooth. 'The science thing.' Very specific. Very convincing.

Robbie looked at me from the couch where he'd settled himself—RIGHT next to Hannah, I noticed, their thighs practically touching—and gave me that lazy, knowing smirk. The one that said he knew EXACTLY what I really wanted to show him upstairs, and he was going to make me wait for it.

"What's the rush, Freckles?" He stretched his arm along the back of the couch—behind Hannah's shoulders, I couldn't help noticing. "Your mom's making dinner. Smells incredible. We should eat first, right? Be polite?"

"Yeah, Katie, don't be rude," Hannah chimed in immediately, scooting just slightly closer to Robbie on the couch. The movement made her barely-contained breasts shift beneath that criminally small crop top, the exposed lower curves of her areolas catching the lamplight. "Mom's cooking. We should all hang out down here."

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

He was... right. Mom WAS making dinner. It would be rude to just disappear upstairs. And the food DID smell good. And it's not like his cock was going anywhere. It would still be there after dinner. Waiting for me. Thick and warm and—

"Yeah," I said, swallowing. "Yeah, you're right. After dinner."

I sat down in the armchair across from the couch, trying to arrange my face into something other than "woman who desperately wants to see a cock." It wasn't easy. Every time I looked at Robbie—at the way his jeans sat on his hips, at the space between his slightly spread legs—I found myself trying to divine the outline of what was underneath. Was that a bulge? Was it to the left? How big was it soft? Would it—

Focus. Katie. Focus on literally anything else.

Unfortunately, "anything else" was watching my eighteen-year-old sister throw herself at the boy who'd spent months psychologically tormenting me and my best friend.

Hannah had shifted again on the couch. She was turned now, her body angled toward Robbie, one leg tucked beneath her—which spread her other leg outward and pulled those impossibly tight shorts even TIGHTER across her crotch. The outline of her pussy lips was—you could see EVERYTHING. The plump outer labia pressed against thin, overstretched spandex, the crease between them dark and defined. She might as well have been naked from the waist down.

And she was STARING at him. Those blue eyes—big and round and framed by pale lashes—were locked on Robbie's face with the kind of rapt, obsessive focus I recognized from every teen movie ever made. Like he was a celebrity. Like he was the most fascinating person she'd ever encountered. Every time he shifted, her eyes tracked the movement. Every time he spoke, her lips parted slightly. She was HANGING on him.

"So, Robbie—" Hannah leaned forward, which made her crop top ride up even further. The bottom edge was now well above the midpoint of her areolas—I could see almost half of each pink circle, the fabric straining to contain what little of her breasts it still covered. Her nipples were hard points pressing through the thin material. "How long have you known Katie? She literally NEVER talks about you at home."

That was a lie. I talked about him CONSTANTLY. In the context of "this horrible person is ruining my life." But apparently that information had been... what? Forgotten? Overwritten?

"Long enough to know she's a freakled freak," Robbie said easily, and Hannah GIGGLED. Like it was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. She tossed her long blonde ponytail and laughed with her whole body, which made her breasts bounce and jiggle beneath the inadequate crop top.

"Oh my god," she laughed. "She totally IS a freak. The biggest."

"Hannah—" I started.

"So, like—" Hannah cut me off without even acknowledging I'd spoken, leaning closer to Robbie. Her bare arm brushed against his. "Do you like younger girls? Like, girls my age? Or are you more into older girls, like Katie?"

She asked it breathlessly. Hopefully. Like his answer mattered more than anything else in the world.

Robbie looked at her. That slow, appraising look—the same one he'd given her when she'd done her little spin earlier. His eyes dropped to her chest, to the exposed areola edges, to the hard nipples poking through fabric. Then lower, to the obscene display between her spread legs. He took his time. Didn't pretend to look away. Didn't pretend to be polite.

"I like all kinds of girls, baby girl," he said, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that I HATED because it was effective. "Young ones, older ones. Depends on the girl."

Hannah practically VIBRATED with pleasure. "Yeah? What do you think of me? Like—"

She stood up abruptly from the couch and TURNED AROUND, presenting her ass to him. She looked back over her shoulder, ponytail swinging, and arched her back—pushing her tight, round, spandex-covered ass toward his face. The bike shorts were so tight and so thin that every detail was visible—the individual curves of each cheek, the deep cleft between them, the way the fabric dipped between her legs and pressed against the underside of her pussy from behind. She was PRESENTING herself to him. Like an offering.

"Do you like my ass?" she asked, voice small and eager.

"Turn around more," Robbie said. Not a question. A command.

Hannah obeyed instantly, rotating slightly so he could see from different angles!

"Fuck yeah, baby girl," Robbie said appreciatively. "That's a nice little ass."

Hannah beamed. She literally BEAMED. Like she'd won a prize. She sat back down—closer to him now, their thighs fully pressed together—and squirmed with visible delight.

I sat in my armchair and watched this happen and felt... conflicted.

I was disgusted. Obviously. This was my LITTLE SISTER throwing herself at a guy who'd tormented me. Showing him her ass. Fishing for his approval. It was embarrassing. It was desperate. It was—

But what was I supposed to DO? She was eighteen. She was a legal adult making her own choices. I was raised to be TOLERANT. My parents—my MOM, who was fifteen feet away cooking practically naked—had raised me to respect other people's autonomy. If Hannah wanted to seek validation from an asshole, that was her right. Her mistake to make. Her lesson to learn. You couldn't protect people from their own choices; you could only be there for them when they inevitably got hurt.

That's what good sisters did. They tolerated.

Even when every fiber of their being was screaming that something was wrong.

"What about boobs?" Hannah pressed on, undeterred, reaching up to cup her own breasts through the straining crop top—lifting them, displaying them, squeezing them together to create cleavage in the stretched-out fabric. "Like—I know mine aren't as big as Katie's or Mom's, but—do you like them? Or do you prefer, like, REALLY big ones?"

"Yours are perfect, baby girl," Robbie said, and his hand—casually, like it was nothing—settled on her bare thigh. Just above her knee. Resting there. Warm. Possessive. "I like tits of all sizes. Big ones like your mom's got—fuck, those things are insane—and perky little ones like yours. It's all good."

"Really?" Hannah pressed closer to him, and now she was practically in his LAP, her body turned into his, her barely-covered chest brushing against his arm. She rubbed herself against him—subtle but unmistakable. A slow, sinuous shifting of her torso that dragged her hard nipples across the fabric of his sleeve. "You think Mom's boobs are nice?"

"Your mom's got some of the best tits I've ever seen," Robbie said casually, and his hand slid higher on Hannah's thigh. "All of you got crazy genetics. Freakles over there—" he nodded at me "—she's stacked too. Runs in the family."

I flushed. Looked away. Looked at my hands. Tried not to think about the warm pulse between my legs that his attention—even that brief, dismissive attention—had triggered.

"But like, if you HAD to pick—" Hannah was relentless. Her body was pressed fully against his side now, one of her legs draped over his thigh. The position spread her crotch open slightly, the thin shorts stretching even tighter, the outline of her pussy even more pornographically defined. "—bigger or smaller?"

"I don't have to pick," Robbie said. "I can have both."

Hannah giggled again—that high, breathless, delighted sound—and her hand found his chest, resting there like it belonged. She was fully draped on him now. A human accessory. Every line of her tight, barely-dressed body arranged for his viewing pleasure.

I sat in my chair and fantasized about cock.

His cock, specifically. Was it circumcised or uncut? Thick or long? Both? Veined? What color was the head? Did it curve? Jenn had mentioned a curve, hadn't she? Or was that just—

"Katie? KATIE."

I blinked. Hannah was looking at me with mild annoyance.

"What?"

"I SAID, don't you think Robbie's funny? He just told the FUNNIEST story about—"

"I wasn't listening," I admitted.

"God, you're so weird." Hannah turned back to Robbie, dismissed me entirely. "Anyway, so what happened with the—"

She launched into questions again. An endless stream of them. Where did he live? What music did he like? Did he work out? (She felt his arm while asking this, squeezing his bicep and gasping performatively.) Did he have a car? Did he have a girlfriend? (She asked this one with particular intensity, eyes wide and hopeful.)

"No girlfriend," Robbie said, and I could HEAR the amusement in his voice. "Not right now."

"Really?" Hannah's voice dropped. Breathy. "That's crazy. You're so—you're, like—"

God. My little sister was embarrassing. She was throwing herself at him with all the subtlety of a brick through a window. Rubbing against him, showing off her body, laughing at things that weren't funny, touching him constantly—his arm, his chest, his thigh. The worship in her eyes was so blatant it was almost painful to witness.

But. Tolerant. I was raised—

You know what, I didn't even need to finish that thought anymore. It was just the truth of my existence. Tolerance. Acceptance. Non-judgment. Even when my sister was acting like a desperate groupie for a guy who'd emotionally manipulated my best friend for half a year.

She had to make her own mistakes. That was the only way she'd learn.

Hannah was saying something about her gymnastics training—how flexible she was, bending forward to demonstrate some stretch that gave Robbie a direct view down her crop top. I tuned it out. None of it mattered. All that mattered was—

"Yo! Robbie!"

The voice came from the stairs, and I looked up to see my brother Mike taking them two at a time, phone in hand, face lit up with excitement. Mike was Hannah's twin—fraternal, obviously, but you could see the resemblance. The same blonde hair (shorter, tousled), the same athletic build (broader, more muscular), the same blue eyes. He was objectively gorgeous—I could acknowledge that as his sister without it being weird. Tall for eighteen, with broad swimmer's shoulders, a defined jaw, and cheekbones that made girls in his school lose the ability to speak coherently.

He was popular. Disgustingly popular. The kind of popular where girls literally DMed him paragraphs of longing and he had to set his Instagram to private. But it had never gone to his head, because Mike had Jessie. His girlfriend of three years—a swimmer at their sports school, sweet and gorgeous and completely devoted to him. They were that nauseating couple that made everyone else feel single.

"Dude," Mike said, practically bounding toward the couch. He thrust his phone toward Robbie with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever presenting a tennis ball. "She finally did it! She's sending me pictures. LOOK."

On Mike's phone screen, displayed at maximum brightness, was a picture of Jessie!

Nearly naked Jessie.

I could see it from my armchair—she was lying on what looked like her bed, wearing nothing but a tiny bikini bottom that barely covered anything. Her swimmer's body was on full display—long, lean, toned. Wide shoulders. Narrow waist. Strong thighs. Her breasts were bare—medium-sized, firm, with pink nipples pointing slightly upward. She was biting her lip for the camera, one hand in her hair, back arched.

Robbie took the phone from Mike's hand, leaning back on the couch to study the image with obvious, open appreciation. His eyes moved over Jessie's naked body the way they'd moved over Hannah minutes ago—slowly, hungrily, cataloguing every detail. Hannah peered over his shoulder, also looking.

"Oh my GOD," Hannah said, leaning closer to the screen. "Her tits look amazing. Look at those nipples—they're so perky. Jessie's body is insane." She turned to Mike. "Has she been waxing? She looks completely smooth."

The comment was so casually sexual—about her brother's girlfriend's naked body—that I blinked. That wasn't... Hannah didn't usually talk like that. About anyone, let alone her twin's girlfriend. But she seemed completely unfazed by her own words.

"Yeah," Mike said, grinning. "She just started. Smooth everywhere now."

Mike swiped to the next photo—Jessie from behind, looking over her shoulder. The bikini bottom was a thong. Her bare ass was... remarkable. A swimmer's glutes—round, powerful, smooth. Another swipe—Jessie cupping her bare breasts in her hands, pushing them together, tongue out playfully.

Another swipe. Jessie on her knees. No bikini at all now. Completely nude, legs parted slightly, one hand between her—

"Nice," Robbie said, zooming in on something. His voice was thick with appreciation. "Very nice. She's got a pretty little pussy."

"Right?!" Mike was BEAMING. Like Robbie's approval of his girlfriend's nude body was the highest validation he could receive. He stood next to the couch practically bouncing on his toes, watching Robbie scroll through photo after photo of his naked girlfriend.

"She looks fucking incredible," Robbie said, scrolling through more images with clear enjoyment. "Swimmer's body. I love it. Those thighs could crush a man's head." He looked at Mike with that predatory grin. "Can't wait to meet her, bro."

"Dude, she's gonna LOVE you," Mike said enthusiastically. Then, almost vibrating with anticipation: "I'm thinking this weekend? I'll bring her over. She doesn't know about you yet but—"

"She'll come around," Robbie said with absolute confidence.

"For sure, for sure." Mike nodded rapidly. "She'll totally be into it once she meets you."

Into WHAT? Into what, exactly? What was the plan here? Why was my brother acting like introducing his long-term girlfriend to this guy was the most exciting prospect of his young life?

But—

Tolerant. I was raised tolerant.

"So what's going on with those other girls?" Robbie asked casually, handing the phone back but keeping his eyes on Mike. "You talk to any of them?"

Mike's face lit up with the enthusiasm of a puppy given a task. "Dude, yes! Okay so—" he counted on his fingers, "—there's Maya from my calc class, she's been flirting with me for MONTHS. I finally told her I was down to hang out. Then there's Sam— the volleyball player? Tall, big ass? She DM'd me last week and I responded just like you said."

He was listing girls. Girls who were interested in him. Girls he had apparently been DEFLECTING because of Jessie—but was now pursuing. On Robbie's instructions?!

"I also talked to this freshman, Nicole," Mike continued, leaning forward conspiratorially. "She's tiny. Like five feet even. Really cute face. She's been leaving notes in my locker since September. I asked her to coffee."

"A freshman?" Hannah grinned, nudging Robbie. "He likes 'em young too."

"Good shit, man," Robbie said, giving Mike an approving nod. "Line 'em up. I want to meet them all eventually."

"Totally, bro. Whatever you want."

WHATEVER HE WANTS?!?

My brother—who had been FAITHFULLY committed to his girlfriend for three years—was now pursuing every girl who'd ever shown interest in him, collecting them like trading cards, on ROBBIE'S request. And showing Jessie's private nudes to a guy she'd never met. And being actively THRILLED about the idea of introducing her to this stranger.

And Jessie had NO IDEA. She thought those photos were private!

The wrongness of it pressed against the inside of my skull like a headache forming. Something was WRONG. With all of this. With my sister draped over Robbie like a living blanket, her hand now resting openly on his upper thigh, fingers mere inches from his crotch. With my brother treating his girlfriend like a trophy to be shared. With my mom cooking nearly naked in the kitchen. With my DAD under a BRIDGE somewhere—

But.

I was raised tolerant.

Mike was an adult. He could make his own choices about his relationship. If he wanted to pursue other girls, if he wanted to share intimate photos, if he wanted to introduce Jessie to new people—those were HIS decisions. I didn't have to understand them. I didn't have to agree. I just had to RESPECT his autonomy. That's what tolerance meant. Not tolerance only when it was easy, but tolerance when it was HARD. When it challenged you.

Hannah's hand crept higher on Robbie's thigh. Robbie's arm was now fully around her shoulders, his fingers playing absently with the strap of her too-small crop top. Mike was scrolling through his phone, presumably looking at more of Jessie's photos, occasionally showing Robbie another one with proud commentary.

And I sat there.

Tolerating.

Thinking about cock.

Specifically: was dinner almost ready? Because the sooner we ate, the sooner I could get Robbie upstairs, the sooner I could drop to my knees and finally—FINALLY—see what all the fuss was about. See if it really was as big as Jenn described. Feel it in my hands. Learn its weight, its warmth, the way it twitched and grew.

I squeezed my thighs together on the couch and tried to focus on anything other than the growing wetness between my legs.

Dinner. Then cock.

I could wait.

I could be patient.

Even if my sister's hand was now DEFINITELY on his crotch, palm resting over what had to be the bulge, and she was looking up at him with those wide, worshipful eyes, and he was smiling down at her like she was a very good girl—

Tolerant.

I was raised TOLERANT.