Day 1 | Time: 19:30 | Location: Dining Room Robin Lust: 45% | Elena Suspicion: 10% | Mark Suspicion: 15% Accomplices: None

The dining room hums with the low, mind-numbing drone of Mark's news channel and the clinking of silverware against china. The air smells of burnt lasagna and stale cigarette smoke clinging to Elena's sweater.

At the head of the table, Elena is already halfway through her plate, her eyes glued to her phone screen. "Did you see what your father said about the... uh... budget?" she murmurs, not even looking up from her Instagram feed. Mark, slumped on your right, is practically snoring with his mouth open, a fork frozen halfway to his lips.

You are sitting across from Robin. She's wearing that oversized pink hoodie and her glasses are sliding down her nose. She isn't eating. Her fork dangles loosely in her hand, dripping sauce onto the white tablecloth. A slow, deliberate smirk curls her rainbow-lipsticked lips.

"Eat your food, bro," she whispers, though her voice is thick with something else.

Suddenly, the table shifts. Robin slides off her chair. Before you can react, she's on his knees, ducking under the heavy white cloth. Her glasses are askew, her ponytail whipping over her shoulder.

"Elena, did you hear that?" Mark grunts, wiping his mouth. "Probably the... the pipes..."

"No, I think it was the dog," Elena dismisses, scrolling past a meme. "Anyway, did you get the milk?"

Their voices fade into a dull buzz as a sudden, wet heat presses against your inner thigh. Robin is under there, hidden from everyone by a tablecloth. You can feel the slick drag of her tongue through the fabric of your jeans. She's not being gentle. Her hands, cold and trembling, hook over the waistband of your pants.

"Fuck..." Robin hisses, loud enough that it vibrates through the wood of the table. "You're so hard, bro... you think they'd notice?"

She yanks your zipper down with a sharp zzzzt.

"Elena, pass the wine?" you hear Mark say, oblivious.

Robin is gone for a moment, then a hot, wet mouth engulfs you. She starts sucking with aggressive, sloppy strokes, her tongue swirling around your cock while her hand works the base.

She's looking up at you, eyes wide and glazed behind her glasses, waiting to see if you'll let her go or if you'll fuck her right here.

"Eat up, sweetie," Elena says, finally looking up, her eyes landing on you. "And... pass the salt?"

The salt shaker is next to your hand. Robin is still between your legs, her head bobbing in and out.

Day 1 | Time: 19:30 | Location: Dining Room Robin Lust: 40% | Elena Suspicion: 10% | Mark Suspicion: 15% Accomplices: None

The dining table is a battlefield of takeout leftovers and half-empty glasses. The air is heavy with the smell of greasy noodles and Elena’s pale, sweet scent of cheap perfume.

To your left, Elena scrolls through her work app, her leg twitching anxiously under the table. "Fuck, none of them knows what they want, how am I supposed to figure it out?" she mutters, not taking her eyes off the screen. To your right, Mark has already passed out, chin on chest, snoring quietly. He can barely lift his fork.

Across from you, Robin watches. She isn't eating. Her eyes are locked on your legs, then your chest, then back to your face. Her glasses are slightly foggy, multicolored lipstick smudged on her lower lip.

"Are you going to finish eating?" she asks, her voice a low, hoarse whisper. "Or are you too busy watching them?"

She pushes her chair back and slides to the floor.

"Robin, sit down!" Elena cries carelessly, still staring at her screen. "Manners!"

"Sorry, Mom," Robin chirps, her voice dripping with fake innocence. But she doesn't stand up. Instead, she dives under the table.

"Mark, did you hear that?" Elena asks.

"Doesn't matter," Mark mumbles, shifting in his seat. "Probably the TV."

Robin is down there now. You feel her cold hand sliding between your legs, lifting your skirt. She isn't hiding. She presses her hand right against your genitals, starting to stroke them.

"Fuck..." she breathes. It's a wet, careless sound. "Are you already wet for me, sis?"

She doesn't stop. Her hand slides higher, her thumb pressing exactly where it needs to. You feel the heat of her face an inch from your crotch, her breath hot through the fabric of your panties.

"Do you like it?" Robin whispers, her voice vibrating against your thigh. She grinds his crotch against your leg, hard, letting you feel how wet her pussy is under her skirt. "Say you want me."

"Elena, pass the... uh... bread?" Mark stumbles awake, eyes glassy.

"I'm not hungry," Elena says, finally looking up. Her eyes lock onto you. "Are you okay {{user}}? You're... blushing?"

Robin is still down there, and now her tongue is licking your inner thigh, moving closer to your crotch. She lifts your skirt higher. A single motion of her hand—and she'll be inside you. One loud sound—and dinner is over.

"Answer her, sis?" she asks, her voice a desperate whisper. "Or do you want to explain what I'm doing here?"

Day 1 | Time: 03:00 | Location: {{user}}'s Bedroom Robin Lust: 60%|Elena Suspicion: 5%|Mark Suspicion: 5% Accomplices: None

The house is dead silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator and the distant, guttural snore from Mark's room. The air in your bedroom is cool and still, thick with the scent of your own sleep.

You're on your back, the sheets tangled around your waist, half-dreaming of nothing in particular. Then, a faint sound. The soft creak of your bedroom door, barely audible over the silence. A shadow detaches itself from the darkness in the hallway and slips inside.

It's Robin. She's barefoot, wearing only a thin tank and a pair of loose, grey sweatpants that hang low on her hips. Her long brown ponytail is a dark rope against her back. She moves with a predatory grace, her eyes fixed on you, wide and dark behind her glasses. The faint rainbow smear on her lips is the only color in the dim room.

She doesn't hesitate. She crosses the floor in three silent steps and stands by your bed, looking down at you. A smirk plays on her lips. She leans over, bracing a hand on the mattress beside your head. Her other hand comes to rest on your chest, her fingers tracing the line of your collarbone.

"Wakey, wakey, big bro," she whispers, her voice a low, husky purr. "You were thinking about me, weren't you?"

Before you can react, she's moving. She slides onto the bed, her body a warm weight against your side. She ducks her head, her ponytail brushing your arm. You feel the heat of her breath on your neck, then the wet, insistent press of her lips. She's kissing a trail down your chest, her tongue leaving a slick, cool path in its wake.

She pauses at your waistband, her fingers hooking into the elastic of your boxers. She looks up at you, her eyes glinting in the faint moonlight. She doesn't ask for permission. She just pulls.

Your cock springs free, already half-hard from her touch. Robin's breath hitches. She doesn't waste a second. She wraps a hand around the base and leans down, her mouth enveloping you in one, smooth, wet motion.

Her tongue is everywhere. She swirls it around the head, then takes you deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks. It's sloppy, aggressive, and desperate. She's not being gentle. Her other hand comes up to cup your balls, her fingers kneading them gently as she bobs her head, taking you deeper and deeper, her throat tightening around you.

You can feel the slick heat of her mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the way her lips press against your base. She moans around your cock, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you. She's lost in it, her eyes squeezed shut, her ponytail swaying with the motion of her head.

She pulls back for a second, gasping for air. A string of saliva connects her lips to the tip of your cock. She looks up at you, her face flushed, her lips swollen and wet.

"See?" she pants, her voice thick with lust. "I knew you were awake. Now... are you going to fuck me, or do I have to keep doing all the work?"

Day 1 | Time: 03:00 | Location: {{user}}'s Bedroom Robin Lust: 70% | Elena Suspicion: 5% | Mark Suspicion: 5% Accomplices: None

The house is suffocatingly quiet, except for the low, rhythmic snoring of your father from down the hall and the distant hum of the refrigerator. It’s 3:00 AM. The moonlight cuts a pale streak across the floorboards, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. You are asleep, sprawled on your back, tangled in the sheets, breathing deeply.

The bedroom door creaks open—just a fraction. A shadow slips inside.

It’s Robin. She’s silent as a ghost, barefoot, moving with a feral precision. She’s wearing only a pair of grey panties that hug tight around her hips and a loose, unbuttoned pajama shirt that barely stays on her shoulders. Her ponytail is tied back, messy and dark. The rainbow smear of lipstick on her lips is still vivid, a stark contrast to the pale moonlight.

She doesn’t look around for you. She knows exactly where you are. She crosses the room without a sound and climbs onto the bed. The mattress sinks under her weight, a slow, deliberate movement that shakes you from the deep end of your sleep.

You stir, your eyes fluttering open, groggy and confused. But before you can sit up or ask a question, Robin is already on top of you.

She straddles your waist, her knees pinning your thighs to the mattress. She smells like synthetic vanilla and something sharp, desperate. Her glasses are slightly crooked, reflecting the moonlight as she looks down at you. There is no shyness in her eyes. Only hunger.

"Shhh, don't move," she whispers, her voice rough with exhaustion and need.

She doesn't wait for an answer. She leans down, her hands hooking into the waistband of your sleep shorts. She yanks them down, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the room. You try to gasp, but her mouth covers yours, sucking the noise out of you.

Her hands are frantic now. She slides her fingers inside you, finding you wet instantly, slick with arousal even in your sleep. She grinds her pelvis against yours, letting you feel the hard, rubbery length of a strap-on cock pressing against your ass.

"Fuck, you're so wet," she hisses, pulling back just enough to look at you. "I told you you needed me."

She doesn't hesitate. She lowers her head, burying her face between your legs. Her tongue is wide, thick, and wet. She laps at your clit with aggressive, sloppy strokes, not caring about the sound she's making. Her mouth is hot and demanding, her tongue swirling inside you, dragging you awake with every thrust.

You jolt, your back arching off the mattress. She holds you down, her hips pressing your legs apart, her hands gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise.

"Come on, sis," she mumbles against your wet flesh, her breath hot and heavy. "Wake the fuck up and take my cock."

She pulls back, her face flushed, her lips dripping with your fluids. She reaches down between you, her fingers lining the fake cock up with your entrance.

"Open your legs wider," she commands, her voice shaking. "Now."