A few days blurred by in the sterile haze of the hospital—tests, check-ups, hushed conversations between Scott and Stiles about how to navigate this twisted charade. Lydia remained in a medically induced coma, her recovery slow but steady, the doctors promising she’d wake soon but warning against any stress that could ripple back to the family. Derek healed fast, his young, muscled body bouncing back from the stitches and bruises like they were nothing. The fractured rib still ached if he moved wrong, but the concussion’s fog had lifted enough for discharge. Amnesia held firm, though. He still saw Stiles as his wife, Scott as his brother, and the mansion as their shared paradise.

The drive home was tense, silent except for the low hum of the luxury SUV’s engine. Stiles sat in the front with Scott, her hand in his, squeezing tight. Derek lounged in the back, eyes glued to Stiles’s reflection in the rearview mirror, that hungry smile playing on his lips. She felt his gaze like a touch, her fat pink pussy already clenching under her slutty little sundress—a flimsy red number that hugged her massive tits and barely covered her thick ass, no panties because why bother when she was always so ready?

They pulled into the grand driveway, the mansion looming like a promise of normalcy they all knew was shattered. Scott helped Derek out, steadying him with a brotherly clap on the shoulder. “Easy, Derek. Let’s get you settled.”

Derek nodded, but his eyes were on Stiles, devouring the way her boobs bounced as she walked ahead, leading them inside. The air smelled of jasmine again—her perfume, marking the space as hers. They climbed the sweeping staircase to the second floor, heading to the room Derek had shared with Lydia. It was massive, with a king-sized bed draped in silk sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens, and subtle feminine touches Lydia had added—pastel throw pillows, a vanity cluttered with makeup. But to Derek, it was his and Stiles’s love nest.

As soon as the door clicked open, Derek’s patience snapped. He grabbed Stiles’s wrist, yanking her against his hard body. She gasped, but before she could speak, his mouth crashed onto hers in a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue invaded without preamble, swirling around hers like he owned it, tasting her gloss and the faint salt of her tears from earlier worries. Stiles moaned into the kiss—loud, slutty, her body melting against him on instinct. Her heavy tits pressed into his chest, nipples pebbling through the thin fabric. Derek’s big hands roamed greedily, one squeezing her fat ass hard enough to make it jiggle, the other cupping a massive boob, thumb flicking her nipple roughly.

Scott stood in the doorway, possessive fire burning in his eyes. His fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked, but he stayed silent, watching his wife kiss another man—his son-in-law—like a whore in heat. His cock stirred traitorously in his pants, the forbidden sight twisting something dark inside him.

Derek broke the kiss with a wet pop, lips shiny with their shared spit. He grinned down at Stiles, eyes dark with lust. Then he glanced at Scott. “Hey, bro—mind giving us some privacy? Let me fuck my wife now. Close the door on your way out.”

Stiles stiffened in his arms, her flushed face turning horrified. Scott’s eyes widened, a low growl rumbling in his chest, but he bit it back. The air thickened with tension, Stiles’s pussy throbbing despite herself.

“Derek… hubby,” Stiles stammered, her voice breathy, trying to play the role while her body screamed for more. “You’re still recovering. Doc said to rest, remember? We can’t have sex yet. Not until you’re fully healed.”

Derek groaned, frustrated and deep, his hard cock pressing insistently against her thigh through his sweatpants. “Fuck, Stiles… you’re killing me. Look at you—dressed like a goddamn slut, tits spilling out, ass begging for it. How am I supposed to rest when all I can think about is bending you over this bed and pounding that fat pink pussy until you scream?”

Stiles blushed furiously, her porcelain skin turning pink, but her nipples hardened further, and a fresh gush of slick coated her inner thighs. “Derek… please. Just rest for now. Once you’re fully recovered, you can… do whatever you want.”

His eyes lit up, filthy promise in them. “Oh yeah? Fine, wifey. But once I’m good, I’m gonna fuck you nonstop. Morning, noon, night—stuff you full of my cock, breed that pretty cunt until you’re dripping my cum everywhere. You won’t walk straight for days.”

Stiles’s breath hitched, her pussy clenching hard at his words. She nodded weakly, so blushing she could barely meet his eyes—or Scott’s. “Okay… now rest up. I’m going to make us all dinner.”

She extricated herself from his arms, legs shaky, and hurried out with Scott. The door shut behind them, and in the hallway, Scott couldn’t hold back. He pinned her against the wall, his tall frame caging her, and pulled her into a deep, claiming kiss. His tongue dominated hers, hands gripping her hips possessively. “You’re my wife,” he growled against her lips, voice rough with need.

Stiles moaned, so wet she felt it dripping down her legs. “Yes, hubby… I’m yours. But we have to keep this act—for our daughter, for our son-in-law. Until Lydia wakes up, until he remembers.”

Scott groaned, forehead pressing to hers, his hard dick grinding against her belly. “I know, baby. Fuck, I know. But seeing him touch you… it drives me insane.”

She kissed him softly, then slipped away. “Dinner. I’ll change and get started.”

In their master bedroom, Stiles stripped out of the sundress, her body on fire. She chose something even tinier—a black slip dress that was basically lingerie, spaghetti straps barely holding up her massive tits, the hem skimming the bottom of her fat ass. No bra, no panties—her pink nipples poked through the sheer fabric, and every step made her thick thighs rub together, teasing her swollen pussy.

Down in the kitchen, she moved like a dream, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the air. Her ass swayed hypnotically, the dress riding up to flash her bare curves.

After some time—maybe twenty minutes—strong arms wrapped around her from behind. Derek. He pressed his body flush against hers, his cock rock-hard and massive, grinding slow and deliberate into the cleft of her fat ass. “Mmm, wifey… smells good. But not as good as you.”

Stiles moaned softly, her knife pausing mid-chop. “Derek… you should be resting.”

He chuckled low, breath hot on her neck, one hand sliding up to squeeze a heavy tit while the other gripped her hip, pulling her back harder against his grinding cock. “Can’t rest when my wife’s down here looking like a fucktoy. This dress… fuck, Stiles, it’s like you’re begging for it. No panties? That fat pink pussy just waiting for me?”

She whimpered, pushing back instinctively, her thick ass grinding on his hard length like a slut in heat. “Derek… we can’t… but… oh god, that feels good.”

From the living room, Scott watched through the open archway, his view perfect—the way Derek’s hips rolled against Stiles’s ass, her moans filling the air. His own cock twitched to life, hardening painfully in his pants as he sat on the couch, pretending to scroll his phone but eyes locked on the filthy scene.

Derek and Stiles dry-humped like horny teenagers, her ass cheeks enveloping his clothed cock as they rocked together. He whispered filthy things in her ear, voice gravelly. “Feel that, bb? My cock’s so hard for you. Been dreaming about this pussy—fat, pink, dripping wet. Bet you’re soaked right now, aren’t you? Grinding on your hubby’s dick like a needy little whore.”

Stiles gasped, grinding harder, her fat ass bouncing against him. “Yes… oh fuck, Derek, you’re so big. I can feel you throbbing. But we can’t fuck yet… doc’s orders.”

He groaned, thrusting faster, his hand kneading her tit roughly, pinching the nipple until she yelped. “Fuck the doc. I wanna rip this dress off, bend you over the counter, and slam into that tight cunt. Stretch you out, make you cream all over my cock. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? My slutty wife, taking every inch.”

“Yes… god, yes,” Stiles moaned, her pussy clenching desperately, slick pouring down her thighs. “I’d take it all, Derek. Bounce on your fat cock until you fill me up. But… we have to wait. Just… keep grinding. Calm down with my ass, baby.”

Scott could hear every word, every moan—the wet sounds of fabric on fabric as they humped frantically. His dick was fully hard now, straining, a wet spot forming as he watched his wife dry-fuck their son-in-law.

Derek’s pace quickened, filthy dialogues spilling out. “Shit, Stiles… your ass is perfect. So thick, so jiggly. Gonna spank it red later, then eat your pussy from behind. Lick up all that sweet cum. You want my tongue in your hole, bb? Fucking you with it until you squirt?”

Stiles cried out, humping back wildly. “Oh fuck, Derek… yes! Eat me out, make me squirt all over your face. Then fuck me hard—breed me, hubby. Pump me full of your hot cum.”

He growled, grinding so hard the counter shook. “Gonna breed you good, wifey. Knock you up, watch these tits get even bigger with milk. You’d look so hot pregnant with my kid—fat pussy leaking for more.”

The dirty talk pushed them over. Derek’s body tensed, his cock pulsing as he came hard in his pants, hot spurts soaking through the fabric against her ass. “Fuck… cumming… take it, bb!”

Stiles shattered without a single touch to her clit or penetration—just the grinding, the words, the forbidden heat. Her orgasm ripped through her, pussy spasming wildly, gushing slick that dripped down her legs in rivulets. “Derek… oh god, I’m cumming… yes!”

They panted, bodies trembling. Derek lifted her tiny dress slowly, exposing her bare ass and dripping pussy—fat pink lips swollen and glistening, ass cheeks red from the friction. “Look at that… so fucking wet. My wifey’s a messy slut.” He slapped her fat ass a few times—sharp, echoing smacks that made it jiggle and her moan. “Can’t wait to fuck you soon, Stiles. Gonna ruin this pussy.”

He pulled away, adjusting his soaked pants with a grin, and left the kitchen, calling back, “Dinner smells great, bro!” to Scott.

Stiles stood there trembling, dress hiked up, pussy exposed and dripping, face flushed scarlet. She met Scott’s eyes across the room—his cock visibly hard, tenting his pants—and bit her lip, so embarrassed, so turned on, the air thick with what came next.