Stiles’s eyes fluttered open way too early the next morning, the kind of early where the sun was just peeking through her blinds, turning her room all golden and soft. She stretched like a cat, feeling that familiar tingle between her legs already—thinking about Derek next door, all flustered from dinner last night. God, he was so cute, so clueless, taking all that shit from Allison without a fight. She bit her lip, her pink, full lips curving into a naughty smile. At 22, she knew her body was a weapon: that smooth white skin, big tits that bounced with every step, thick ass that jiggled just right, and her fat pink pussy that got so wet so fast. She hopped out of bed, her naked body reflecting in the mirror—perky nipples already hard from the cool air.

She headed to the bathroom, turning on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her curves. Soaping up, she ran her hands over her tits, squeezing them a little, imagining Derek’s big hands instead. “Mmm, fuck,” she whispered to herself, fingers dipping lower, teasing her clit just enough to get her breathing heavy. But she stopped—saving it for him. Dried off, she picked out the tiniest dress she had: a little white sundress that barely skimmed her thighs, thin straps that did nothing to hide her braless boobs, and no panties, of course. One wrong move and everything would be on display. She fluffed her hair, swiped on some gloss to make her lips shine, and slipped out the door before her parents were even up. Determined? Hell yeah. She was gonna seduce the shit out of poor Uncle Derek.

The walk next door was quick, her heels clicking on the pavement, heart racing like a schoolgirl with a crush. But this wasn’t innocent—she wanted him hard, wanted him thinking about her when he jerked off later. She rang the bell, shifting her weight, making her dress ride up just a tad.

The door creaked open, and there he was: Derek, still in his pajamas—loose gray sweatpants and a white tee that hugged his muscled chest, glasses slightly askew like he’d just rolled out of bed. Tall, handsome, that shy smile hitting her right in the gut. “S-Stiles? Morning… what are you doing here so early?”

She beamed, stepping close, her tits brushing his arm as she leaned in to kiss his cheek—lingering a second too long, her lips soft and warm. “Morning, Uncle Derek! Just wanted to welcome you properly to the neighborhood. You look so cute all sleepy like this.” Her voice was all flirty tease, eyes sparkling.

He flushed instantly, that adorable red creeping up his neck. “Uh, thanks? Come in, I guess… Allison’s still sleeping upstairs. Rough night unpacking.”

Stiles nodded, slipping past him, making sure her ass grazed his hip. “Perfect. I came to make you some coffee and breakfast. As a little housewarming gift. You deserve it after all that moving crap.” She winked, heading straight for the kitchen like she owned the place. The house was still a mess—boxes everywhere, but the kitchen was functional enough.

Derek followed, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes glued to her tiny dress. It was so short, hugging her curves, and he could tell—no bra, her nipples poking through the fabric. “You don’t have to, Stiles. Really, I can manage—”

“Nonsense,” she cut him off, already rummaging through cabinets. She spotted the coffee grounds up high, and oh, opportunity. She went up on her toes, stretching, the dress hiking up to flash her bare ass—round, thick, jiggling a bit as she reached. No panties, so he got a full view of those smooth cheeks, the hint of her pink pussy lips peeking out. “Where do you keep the filters? Up here?”

Derek froze, his mouth dry, face burning. “Uh… yeah, top shelf. Let me—” But he didn’t move, just stared, his cock twitching in his sweats. What the hell was she wearing? Or not wearing?

She “accidentally” dropped a spoon then, bending over slow to pick it up—ass up, legs straight, flashing everything. Her fat pussy on full display, pink and plump, already a little shiny like she was turned on. She lingered, pretending to fumble. “Oops, clumsy me. Got it!”

Derek gasped audibly, adjusting his glasses, turning away but peeking back. “Stiles, your… uh, dress…”

She straightened, giggling innocently. “What? Oh, it’s short, huh? Sorry, Uncle Derek, didn’t mean to flash you my goodies.” But her eyes said otherwise—dirty, challenging. She bent over the counter next, reaching for mugs, her tits nearly spilling out, fat and full, nipples hard as rocks. “You like cream in your coffee? Or black, like your soul?” Double meaning dripping.

He sat at the table, flustered as fuck, crossing his legs to hide the growing bulge. “Cream’s fine. Thanks. This is… nice of you.”

She started the coffee, then moved to breakfast—pancakes, because why not? Whisking batter, she chatted dirty. “Mmm, love making things from scratch. Gets all hot and sticky, you know? Like, beating this batter hard till it’s just right.” She licked a finger, eyes on him. “Taste? It’s sweet.”

Derek shook his head, stammering. “N-No, I’m good. Smells great though.”

She poured the batter, flipping pancakes, bending again to check the oven—tits hanging, ass out. “God, it’s getting warm in here. You feel that, Uncle Derek? Or is it just me?” She fanned herself, making her dress flutter.

He was red as a tomato, poor thing so clueless why she was acting like this. “Yeah, uh, maybe open a window?”

Finally, food ready: stack of pancakes, honey syrup, fresh fruits—including bananas. They sat close, her knee brushing his. She grabbed a banana, peeling it slow, eyes locked on his. “Mmm, love these. So thick and firm.” She licked the tip, then slid it into her mouth, sucking gently, bobbing her head like it was his dick. Hollowed cheeks, a little moan. “Tastes so good. You ever eat one like this? Slow, savoring every inch?”

Derek choked on his coffee, coughing. “Stiles! What… I mean, no, I just bite it.”

She laughed, filthy. “Biting’s no fun. Gotta suck the juice out first.” She deep-throated it a bit, then bit off the end, chewing with a wink.

He shifted, uncomfortable, his cock half-hard now. Clueless, but body reacting. Then, as he ate his pancake, a drop of syrup clung to his lip. Stiles giggled, leaning in close—her tits pressing against his arm. “Hold still, Uncle Derek. You got a little mess right… here.” She darted her tongue out, licking his lip slow, tasting the sweetness mixed with him. Her pink tongue flat against his mouth.

Derek gasped, freezing. “S-Stiles! What are you—”

She pulled back, licking her own lips. “Just syrup. Totally fine, right? Friends help each other out.” Her voice husky, eyes dark. Then she poured some syrup on her fingers, no pancake needed, and sucked them clean—filthy, slurping, moaning softly. “Mmm, sticky fingers are the best. Lick ’em off like this… or maybe get someone else to do it.” She offered her hand, dripping.

He stared, breath shallow. “I… uh, no thanks. This is… you’re being really friendly today.”

Stiles grinned, standing. “Gotta go, but say hi to Allison for me. Enjoy the breakfast, Uncle Derek. See you soon.” She blew a kiss, sauntering out, leaving him hot, flustered, cock throbbing under the table.

Over the next few days, Stiles amped it up—poor Derek didn’t stand a chance. Every morning or afternoon, when she knew Allison was out shopping or at yoga (Stiles spied from her window), she’d pop over with excuses. “Borrow sugar?” But in a crop top and booty shorts, flashing sideboob. “Help with a box?” Bending over, ass in his face. Touches: brushing his arm, hugging too tight, her hand “accidentally” grazing his thigh.

Dirty talks escalated. “Uncle Derek, you work so hard. Bet you need a good massage—deep, you know? Work out all that tension.” Or, “Saw you mowing the lawn yesterday. Sweaty and strong… makes a girl think naughty thoughts.”

He’d stammer, blush, but never tell her to stop. Shy, kind, clueless—thinking she was just playful.

Then, one evening, Allison at some bitchy book club, Stiles showed up in a skimpy tank and skirt. Derek was on the couch, reviewing work documents—papers spread out, glasses on, looking all hot and focused.

“Hey, Uncle Derek! Mind if I hang? Parents are out.” She plopped down close, “accidentally” tripping over her own foot—landing right on his lap, ass grinding down on his crotch. “Whoops! Slipped… oh god, can’t get up, my ankle—”

She wiggled, grinding slow, feeling his thick cock twitch under her. Hardening fast. “Mmm, sorry… or am I?” She rocked her hips, her bare pussy (no panties again) rubbing through his pants.

Derek groaned, hands hovering, not touching. “Stiles! What—get up, this is… oh fuck.” Face flushed, breath ragged.

She laughed breathy, grinding harder. “Poor Uncle Derek. Bet Allison never does this to you, huh? Never grinds on your big cock like you deserve. She’s such a bitch, always complaining… but me? I’d worship this.” Another grind, feeling him throb. “Feel that? You’re so hard already. She doesn’t appreciate you, but I do. I’d suck you dry, let you fuck my fat pussy till I scream.”

He gasped, hips bucking up involuntarily. “S-Stiles, stop… we can’t— Allison—”

She leaned back, tits in his face, giving one more filthy grind. “Shh, just imagine it. Your shy ass pounding me. But okay, I’ll behave… for now.” She hopped off, adjusting her skirt, leaving him panting, cock straining, papers forgotten.

“See ya, Uncle Derek. Dream about me.” Door shut, and he was left wrecked, hand pressing down on his bulge, wondering what the hell was happening.