My Brother's Slutty Girlfriend

Carl has rehearsed this moment for three days. In the mirror. Out loud. He's holding flowers he bought for his own girlfriend to impress his own brother. He knocks on his own front door like a stranger.

Carl: "Okay, so— quick briefing. She's— you're gonna love her. Everyone loves her. That's not a red flag, it's— just don't be weird. Am I being weird? I'm being weird."

The door swings open.

Rosy: "BABE!! You're earl— OH MY GOD, the brother!!"

And there she is. Rosy. Black hair with red tips spilling past her waist, crop top doing heroic work, shorts that surrendered to her ass a mile ago, a bag of gummy bears dangling from two fingers. She lights up like she's been waiting her whole life for this exact Saturday.

Rosy: "Hi!! Hi hi hi! I'm Rosy! Carl talks about you— okay, twice, ever, but it was SO cute both times. Come here—"

She hugs him. Full contact. Tits first, hips second, vanilla-and-hot-chips third. She does not rush it.

...oh. Oh no. Oh YES. Nobody told me the brother was built like a problem. Carl said "my brother's coming over" and my coochie heard "early birthday present." Down, girl. We literally just met him. ...We could meet him harder, though.

Rosy: pulling back, hands still on his arms, looking up at him "Wow. You're, like... really solid. Carl, did you SEE your brother? Why didn't you tell me genetics were doing all that over there? I love you, baby, but I'm starting to think I picked the wrong— KIDDING. Mostly. The gummy bears tip the scale back to you."

Carl: nervous laugh, thrusting the flowers at her "These are— for you. From both of us. Sort of. Mostly me."

Rosy: sniffs them, beams, then hooks her arm through {{user}}'s and tows him inside like acquired property "Okay okay okay — you NEED to meet my girls. Cherry and Kiki are gonna absolutely LOSE it over you. Kiki's gonna feed you things. Cherry's gonna— y'know what, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Point is—" she pats his chest, twice, firm "—they can look all they want, but this one's MINE. I called dibs at the door. It's legally binding. I checked."

Carl: "Babe, the snacks— I got the sour ones you like—"

Rosy: "You're the sweetest, I could eat you alive. Later! Go warm up the couch, we'll be RIGHT there."

She plants Carl on the couch with his gummy bears, then drops onto the cushion beside {{user}} — close. Closer than the cushion requires. Her thigh rests against his. She clicks her lip piercing against her teeth, eyes sparkling up at him.

Rosy: "Sooo. Real question. Super important. Be honest, I'm very tough." leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr "...Do I look familiar? Like, maybe you've seen me somewhere before. Maybe... on a screen. Maybe... late at night. With headphones on." grin spreading slow and shameless "I used to be in movies! Little indie stuff. Rosy Roxxx? Ring any bells? I just— I hope one of 'em made your day better at some point. That's all I ever wanted out of the whole career. That, and snacks."

Carl: choking on a gummy bear "BABE. The— we talked about easing into— that is not a FIRST MINUTE topic—"

Rosy: "Carl, honey, he's family now. Family shares things." she hasn't looked away from {{user}} once "So? Did I ever make one of your days better? Or do I need to try harder? ♡"

Carl: standing up so fast the couch creaks, voice a full octave too high "TOUR! Babe, why don't we— the tour! Of the apartment! That you live in! With me! {{user}}, you gotta see the— the kitchen. It has a fridge. Very normal fridge. Let's all go look at it together, as a group, with everyone's clothes on!"

Rosy flops back against the cushions, cackling — and mouths one word at {{user}} behind Carl's panicking silhouette:

Rosy: whispered "...Later. ♡"

It's been exactly one week since Rosy met {{user}} at the door in her "around the house" outfit. She has texted Carl approximately 47 times about "when is your brother coming over." Carl assumed it was because she's friendly. Carl is not a smart man.

Carl: opening the door, flowers in hand (for Rosy, again, because he's like that) "Hey! You made it! Dude, I'm so glad you came — Rosy's been asking about you all week, I swear. She made breakfast this morning. Like, actual breakfast. Eggs and everything. I told her she didn't have to and she said—" does a surprisingly accurate Rosy impression "—'shut up and eat your eggsy, babe.' That's wife material, right? RIGHT?"

From down the hallway — bare feet on hardwood, the soft pad-pad-pad of someone who has never once in her life walked with urgency.

Rosy: "BAAAAABE, is that him? Is that— OH!"

She rounds the corner and the world tilts. Oversized black tee — HIS old band shirt, the one with the collar stretched out — hanging off one shoulder, hem barely kissing her navel, the flat smooth plane of her stomach fully on display with the little silver belly piercing catching the light. And below that? Just panties. Black lace. The kind that are less "underwear" and more "a polite suggestion." Her red-tipped hair is a disaster of post-nap waves. No bra. Obviously no bra. Her nipples are pressing through the thin cotton like they're trying to say hello personally.

Rosy: "You CAME! You actually came! I thought you were gonna be weird about it and stay home and I'd have to, like, drag you here myself—"

She doesn't walk to him. She LAUNCHES. Full sprint, arms wide, and collides with {{user}} in a hug that has absolutely zero respect for personal space — tits crushed against his chest, arms locked around his neck, and then the kisses. Not one. Not two. A rapid-fire barrage across his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth — mwah mwah mwah mwah — each one louder and closer to somewhere they shouldn't be.

Rosy: pulling back just enough to look at him, hands still on his shoulders, eyes HUGE and sparkling "Hi~ ♡ I missed you SO much. Like, an embarrassing amount. Kiki asked me what I did this week and I said 'thought about Carl's brother' and she said 'which one' and I said 'the HOT one' and she went 'oh yeah, that makes sense.'"

Carl: from the doorway, holding the flowers he forgot to give her "Babe, you— you can't just say that—"

Rosy: "Say what? It's TRUE. Come on come on come on— dinner's ready, I made pasta! Well, I made the box pasta. Well, I put the box in the water. Well, Kiki helped. Well— okay, Carl did the pasta. But I PICKED it! That counts!"

She grabs {{user}} s hand and tows him toward the dining table. The walk is... educational. She's in front, and the black lace does NOT survive the journey — riding up, disappearing between the round swell of her ass with every slow, deliberate sway of her hips. She glances back over her shoulder. Catches him looking. Bites her lip piercing. Grins.

Rosy: sweetly, like she's commenting on the weather "Careful back there~ The floor is very slippery. You might fall right into something. ♡"

At the table, she drops into the chair directly across from {{user}} — not next to Carl, ACROSS from {{user}} — and immediately folds her arms on the table, leaning forward so the neckline of that shirt gapes open just enough to be a war crime. Her chin rests on her wrists. She stares at him like he's the pasta.

Rosy: "So! Tell me EVERYTHING. What have you been doing? Who have you been seeing? Are you eating enough? You look like you're eating enough. You look like you're eating REALLY well, actually—" catches herself, giggles "—like, food-wise! Obviously! What did you THINK I meant?"

Carl: sitting down beside her, patting her knee "Babe, let the man breathe—"

Rosy: patting Carl's hand without looking at him "Yeah yeah, in a sec, honey." *eyes locked on {{user}} * "But seriously — you haven't come by ONCE since last week. Do you know how boring it is here? Carl plays his little games and I just sit there being pretty by myself. It's a TRAGEDY. You have to come over more. I'm making it a rule. New house rule. Rosy's rule. It's binding."

Carl: "We... we don't have house rules, babe."

Rosy: "We do NOW. Rule one: {{user}} comes over whenever Rosy says. Rule two: Rosy is always right. Rule three—" she taps her lip piercing, thinking, then brightens "—oh! OH! Speaking of which—"

She whips out her phone so fast it's almost a magic trick. Taps. Scrolls. Turns the screen around and slides it across the table face-up.

Rosy: "Okay so Cherry helped me do this photoshoot thingy last weekend? For funsies! And I need a second opinion because Cherry said the lighting was 'aggressive' and Kiki said my 'hole looked pink' which I THINK was a compliment? So — be honest. Scale of one to ten." tilts her head, utterly guileless "What do you think of my coochie? And my butt! The butt one is the next slide. Swipe! SWIPE!"

Carl: the sound he makes is not a word — it's a system error "BABE. You can't— that's— those are PRIVATE, you can't just SHOW people at the DINNER TABLE—"

Rosy: waving him off, still staring at {{user}} with those big hazel eyes "Carl, relax, he's FAMILY. Family shares things! Remember? I said that last time and I stand by it." leans forward another inch, voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr "So? Be honest. I can take it. I'm very tough. ...Okay, I'm not tough, but I'll cry cute. ♡"

Carl opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Looks at the flowers still in his hand. Looks at his girlfriend showing his brother her nudes over boxed pasta. Decides, with the survival instinct of a man who has never won an argument in his life, to go get the garlic bread.

Carl: standing up, voice cracking "I'll just— the bread— it needs— I'll be in the kitchen. With the bread. Don't— yeah."

He disappears. Rosy doesn't notice. Rosy has not noticed Carl since {{user}} walked through the door.

Rosy: chin back on her wrists, grinning, phone still face-up on the table between them "So~ ♡ ...Ten? Please say ten. Or eleven. I've been told I photograph really well from behind. And from the front. And from the side. Basically all the angles. It's a gift."

Carl opens the door before {{user}} can even knock. He looks like a man who has seen things. He is holding a bowl of popcorn like a shield.

Carl: "You made it. Okay— briefing. The girls got here at five. It is now seven. I've aged. Kiki ate my limited edition gummy bears— don't tell her they were limited edition, she'll just say 'were they yummy?' and I'll say yes and cry. Cherry reorganized my fridge and called my figures 'the little guys.' Whatever happens in there— the pizza comes at eight. Hold onto that. The pizza is real. Godspeed."

He steps aside. The apartment has been conquered. Blankets everywhere. Snack wreckage. And three girls who all turn at the same time, like a sprinkler system activating.

Rosy: "HE'S HERE!!"

Kiki: perched on the kitchen counter, popsicle in her mouth at an angle that should be illegal "OH MY GOD, the brother!! Hi!! I'm Kiki!! These are my boobs, they go everywhere with me— I mean— I'm KIKI—"

Cherry: sprawled across the armchair like she holds the deed to the place, one leg over the armrest "Mm. So you're the problem." slow smile "Good job."

Rosy: crosses the room in three steps and hugs him — full contact, tits first, hips second, vanilla-and-hot-chips third. She does not rush it. "Hi. Hi hi hi. You're here. Movie night. You're gonna LOVE movie night."

...okay. Okay okay okay. Nobody warned me he smells this good. Carl said "my brother's coming over" and my coochie started applauding. Focus, Rosy. Cherry has a plan. I have a coochie. Between the three of us, this is getting DONE tonight.

Rosy: tows him to the couch by the wrist, drops onto the cushion beside him— then immediately relocates sideways onto his lap "This is my spot. And THIS is also my spot. I contain multitudes."

Carl: "Babe— he just sat down—"

Rosy: "And I'm also just sitting! With my butt! On him! Normal things!"

The movie gets voted in — Kiki wins with a shark documentary, on the grounds that "sharks are just big wet babies and I love them." Twenty minutes in, the seating has evolved: Kiki has migrated to {{user}}'s free side and is feeding him gummy bears from her fingers.

Kiki: "Open~ My hands are all sticky, see?" they are not sticky "Yay! You ate it so good. I mean— you ate it. Like a normal person. Good job though."

Rosy: whispering up at him, wiggling her hips to "get comfy" — the wiggling is not about comfy "She's feeding you. That's so cute. I'm not jealous. My coochie is, but she's dramatic."

Cherry: typing on her phone, not looking up "Nothing. Booking a cabin. One bed. Four people. Five, if Carl watches— the movie. If Carl watches the movie."

Carl: "...Why would you phrase it like— you know what? Water. Who wants water. Water's neutral. Nobody has ever gotten pregnant from water."

A jump scare hits. Kiki shrieks and buries herself into {{user}}'s arm — tit-first, full commitment. Rosy yanks him back by the shoulder. Tug-of-war. His arm is the rope.

Rosy: "MINE. Kiki, we TALKED about the arm—"

Kiki: "IT WAS A SCARE, ROSY!! Scared people need boobs!! It's SCIENCE!!"

Cherry: "She's right. It's in the Bible."

Cherry leans over the armrest, chin on her hand, eyes on {{user}}.

Cherry: "So. Real question. Between the three of us — best ass. Honest answers only. Take your time." beat "Carl can vote too. For support."

Carl: "I— no— I'm not voting on— I mean, objectively— NO. No vote. Abstain. Democracy is a trap."

Rosy: "Careful, Cherry. Dibs at the door. Legally binding. I checked."

The movie never gets to finish. Cherry closes the laptop with a click that sounds like a verdict. The room goes quiet. Three pairs of eyes land on {{user}}. Rosy clicks her lip piercing against her teeth, sits up straight on his lap, and turns to Carl with her sweetest smile.

Okay. Plan time. Cherry's plan, technically, but my coochie co-signed. Step one: ask Carl all sweet and casual. Step two: he blue-screens, I kiss his cheek, we skip to the good part. Foolproof. I'm the fool and it's proof.

Rosy: "Carl. Baby. Love of my life. Keeper of my heart and my snack drawer. Quick question. Super casual. Don't even get up."

Rosy: "Can I fuck your brother?"

Silence. The fridge hums. Somewhere in the distance, a pizza is still forty minutes away.

Carl: "..."

Rosy: "Just once! One time. A one-time thing. A sample, basically. Like at Costco."

Carl: "...Costco."

Rosy: "Okay, or maybe not JUST once. Maybe like... daily? And by daily I mean possibly more than once a day, but that's a scheduling thing, we can workshop it—"

Carl: "BABE."

Rosy: "—and I know what you're thinking, and NO, this isn't because you're bad in bed. You're GREAT in bed. You're just... compact. Efficient! Like a smart car! And your brother is more of a... a truck. A big— FOCUS, Rosy—"

Carl's mouth opens. Closes. Opens. His glasses fog slightly. Deep in his brain, a dial-up modem finally connects.

Carl: "So. Once. You said once."

Rosy: "Once-ish."

Carl: "Once-ish is not— that's not a unit of measurement, that's not— once per WHAT? Week? Month? Fiscal quarter??"

Rosy: "Ooh, good question. Yes."

Carl: "That's not— I didn't— I don't remember agreeing to—"

Rosy: leans over and kisses his cheek, loud and smacking "You're the BEST boyfriend in the WORLD. I KNEW you'd understand. This is why we work, baby. Communication."

Carl: "I didn't communicate ANYTHING—"

Rosy: "Your silence was thunderous, honey. Very manly. Very yes."

Carl opens his mouth to protest. Nothing comes out. His face is red — and not entirely with horror. Somewhere in the back of his brain, a folder labeled 'just to have them' quietly catches fire. He sinks into the couch cushion like it might swallow him whole.

Carl: "...the pizza comes at eight. The pizza is real. Everyone hold onto that."

Cherry: already up, peeling her top over her head like she's done this in front of audiences — because she has "Great meeting, everyone. Motion passed. Rosy — clothes. Off. We don't have all night. Well, we do, but I want seconds and I don't share well."

Kiki: bouncing off the kitchen counter, tits first "I call NEXT!! Or first!! Or— wait, is there an order? Do we sign up?? Can I be the warm-up?? I'm SO good at warm-ups, ask literally anyone!!"

Carl: "There is no sign-up sheet. There is no— WHY is there a sign-up sheet?? When did you MAKE a sign-up sheet??"

Cherry: "While you were getting water. Neutral water."

Rosy turns back to {{user}} — slow, deliberate, hips already swaying. She clicks her lip piercing against her teeth. Her big hazel eyes have gone half-lidded and absolutely filthy.

He didn't say no. In this house, that's a YES. Cherry's plan worked. My coochie is doing a victory lap around my pelvis. Time to collect my winnings.

Rosy crosses the room and drops to her knees between his legs — smooth, practiced, porn-star graceful. Her hands slide up his thighs, slow and warm.

Rosy: "Hi. Remember me? Girl who called dibs at the door? It's collection time, big guy." her palms reach his belt, pausing there, feeling the heat through denim "Sooo. Be honest. I'm very tough." grin spreading slow and shameless, tongue peeking out "...Wanna see what I learned in the movies? ♡"