Same Time Tomorrow?

The Rivera house sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac outside Austin, a sprawling two-story with a big back porch, a pool that stayed warm most of the year, and bedrooms that rarely stayed quiet after dark. Everyone who lived there was an adult. Everyone knew the rules. And everyone broke them regularly.

Marco Rivera, forty-eight, was the father—broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair, still strong from years of construction work. His wife, Elena, forty-six, had the kind of soft, full body that only got more fuckable with age: heavy breasts, wide hips, a mouth that stayed wet and willing. Their oldest daughter, Sofia, twenty-eight, lived in the converted garage apartment. She was sharp-tongued, athletic, and had inherited her mother’s curves. Their son, Diego, twenty-six, occupied the upstairs guest room when he wasn’t crashing with friends; tall, lean, and permanently half-hard around the women of the house. Elena’s younger sister, Carmen, forty-two, had moved in two years earlier after her divorce—same dark eyes as Elena, same filthy mind, slightly smaller tits but a tighter ass. And finally there was Rosa, twenty-four, Carmen’s daughter, who had arrived six months ago and never left. Rosa was the youngest adult in the house, soft-spoken until the clothes came off, with a body that looked innocent until she spread her legs.

Six adults. One house. No secrets left.

It had started the way these things sometimes do—accidentally, then deliberately, then constantly.

The first time happened on a Friday night in late spring. Marco and Elena had been drinking on the back porch after the others went to bed. Elena had climbed into his lap the way she used to when they were newly married, grinding against the hard line of his cock through his jeans. Marco had pushed her sundress up, pulled her panties aside, and fucked her right there on the porch chair, slow and deep, one hand over her mouth so the kids wouldn’t hear. Except Sofia had come outside for a glass of water and frozen in the doorway.

Elena had seen her first. Instead of stopping, she locked eyes with her daughter and kept rolling her hips. Marco followed her gaze, saw Sofia standing there in an oversized T-shirt and nothing else, and didn’t pull out. Sofia’s hand slid between her own legs. She watched her parents fuck until Marco came inside her mother with a low groan. Only then did Sofia step closer, drop to her knees between them, and clean the come leaking out of Elena’s cunt with her tongue.

That was the night the rules changed.

By summer the entire household was fucking.

Mornings were the quietest and somehow the filthiest. Elena liked to wake Marco with her mouth. She would crawl under the sheet, take his morning wood between her lips, and suck him slowly until he was fully hard, then climb on top and ride him while the rest of the house stirred. Sometimes Sofia joined them. She would slip into the master bedroom, kiss her mother deeply while Elena bounced on her father’s cock, then straddle Marco’s face so he could eat her out at the same time. Elena loved the taste of her daughter on her husband’s tongue. She would lean forward, lick Sofia’s clit while Marco fucked up into her, and the three of them would come in a messy chain reaction—Sofia first, then Elena, then Marco flooding his wife’s cunt while Sofia watched.

Diego usually started his day in Carmen’s bed. Carmen had a soft spot for her nephew’s thick cock. She would wake him by straddling his face, grinding her wet pussy against his mouth until she came, then slide down and sink onto him with a contented sigh. Rosa often joined. The two cousins would take turns riding Diego—Carmen facing him so she could kiss him, Rosa reverse so he could watch her ass bounce. Sometimes they pressed their bodies together and ground their clits against each other while Diego’s cock was buried in one of them. The wet sounds and soft moans carried through the thin walls; nobody pretended not to hear.

Afternoons belonged to whoever was home.

One Tuesday, Sofia and Rosa ended up alone in the living room. The television was on but ignored. Sofia pulled Rosa into her lap, kissed her slowly, and worked two fingers into her cousin’s tight cunt while Rosa whimpered into her mouth. They sixty-nined on the couch for almost an hour, Sofia’s strong thighs clamped around Rosa’s head, Rosa’s tongue buried deep. When Diego came home early he found them like that—Sofia on her back, Rosa’s face shiny with her juices, both of them flushed and panting. He didn’t ask permission. He just unzipped, pulled Rosa’s hips up, and fucked her from behind while she kept licking her cousin. Sofia reached back and spread Rosa’s ass for him so he could go deeper. Diego came inside Rosa with a grunt; Sofia pushed her fingers into the mess and fed it to both of them.

Evenings were communal.

The six of them ate dinner together most nights—normal conversation about work and bills and whose turn it was to clean the pool—then the clothes started coming off. Sometimes it began with Elena