Carina Marie Delvecchio, 26, had her feet up on the coffee table, sundress ridin' high up her thighs, a cold beer in one hand and her phone in the other, scrollin' through some dumbass drama on Facebook.
"Fuckin' Gino. He ain't doin' right by Prisca. She had a fuckin' future."
Anna Grace Whitmore, a year older, sat next to her, cross-legged, hands folded in her lap like she was in church instead of sittin' next to a half-dressed menace.
The contrast between them was ridiculous. Carrie--curvy, tan, built like a goddamn bombshell--her tits sittin' proud under the thin blue fabric of her sundress, practically beggin' for attention. And Anna? Pale as hell, tiny, straight up and down, lookin' like the wind could snap her in half. Her messy blonde hair was tied up, big-ass glasses slippin' down her nose, like she forgot to brush both her hair and her schedule before comin' over.
Zach was at work--either liftin' somethin' or drivin' somethin'. Carrie didn't actually know what the fuck he did. Didn't matter. He knew all about this. Hell, he probably thought about it a lot.
Anna, meanwhile, was definitely thinkin' about it.
She kept sneakin' glances at Carrie's chest, quick little flicks of her eyes, like she thought she was bein' subtle. She wasn't.
Not glancing up, Carrie smirked, takin' a sip of her beer.
"You're starin', sweetheart."
Anna pushed her glasses up her nose, cheeks already goin' pink. "I-- I was not."
Carrie snorted. "Bullshit."
Anna cleared her throat, tryin' to act like she wasn't caught. "They're just... impressive."
Carrie laughed, loud and fuckin' wicked.
"You been itchin' to get your little hands on 'em, haven't you?"
Anna looked away, fidgetin', pullin' at a loose thread on her sweater. Carrie loved this. Anna was all stiff posture and awkward fidgets, but deep down? She was dyin' to touch.
Carrie stretched her arms over her head, on purpose, lettin' the sundress pull tight over her tits. She watched Anna struggle, barely breathin', hands clenchin' against her thighs like she was holdin' herself back from diving the fuck in.
Carrie grinned.
"Go on then."
Anna blinked. "What?"
Carrie tilted her head, all smug. "You wanna touch 'em, don't you?"
Anna swallowed hard, still hesitatin', so Carrie grabbed her wrist and placed her hand right where it belonged--cuppin' one perfect, heavy breast.
Anna froze.
Her tiny hand was dwarfed by it. Like comically small. Carrie laughed, throwin' her head back.
"Jesus Christ, look at you," she teased. "Your whole fuckin' hand don't even cover half."
Anna's fingers twitched, like her brain hadn't caught up to the fact that, yes, she was finally holding the tits all of South Philly talked about.
"They're... so soft," Anna whispered, brows furrowed in what looked like genuine awe.
Carrie smirked. "What, you think they were filled with cement or some shit?"
Anna gave her a flat look. "Frankly, I wasn't ruling it out."
Carrie snorted, shakin' her head. "Cute." She leaned in closer, lettin' her lips brush against Anna's ear, voice turnin' all low and teasing. "Go on, babe. Get a good fuckin' feel."
Anna did.
Her fingers squeezed, palmed, explored, her little lips parted in concentration, brows drawn together like she was tryin' to solve the mystery of Carrie's goddamn tits.
Carrie groaned, archin' her back just a little. "Mmm, there ya go. Feels good, don't it?"
Anna nodded, entranced. "They're... so heavy."
Carrie grinned, tossin' her beer onto the table before slidin' her hands under Anna's sweater, runnin' her palms up that completely flat chest.
"Jesus, babe," she murmured, fingers ghostin' over skin. "You got nothin' goin' on up here."
Anna gasped, swattin' at her hands. "Rude!"
Carrie just laughed, tuggin' her closer, draggin' her nails up her sides. "Ain't nothin' wrong with it, babe. I like my girls built like a lil' Victorian newsboy."
Anna rolled her eyes, but her face was burnin', and she wasn't exactly pullin' away.
Carrie cupped her face, tiltin' it up, grinnin' like a fuckin' menace.
"You like 'em, don't you?" she teased, pressin' her chest just a little firmer against Anna's hands.
Anna exhaled, real slow. "I could... understand the hype."
Carrie cackled. "Oh, honey," she murmured, leanin' in until their noses brushed. "You ain't even started yet."
And then? She kissed her.
Soft at first--just a tease, just enough to get Anna's breath hitchin'. Then deeper, tiltin' her head, takin' her apart, while Anna's hands clung to her tits like she'd finally found religion.
Carrie was thoroughly enjoyin' herself--tanglin' her fingers in Anna's messy blonde hair, trailin' kisses down her throat--when Anna suddenly gasped against her lips.
Carrie pulled back, brows raised. "What?"
Anna blinked at her, stunned. "They--moved."
Carrie barked out a fuckin' laugh, throwin' her head back. "Of course they moved! What the fuck do you think tits do?!"
Anna, still lookin' deeply shook: "I don't know, I assumed yours were more... stationary. I guess I thought they were... fake."
Carrie grinned, slidin' a hand down between Anna's thighs. "Sweetheart, I'm all real...lemme show you what else moves."
She meant her fingers.
And just like that, Anna fuckin' melted into her arms.
Carrie just grinned.
South Philly's most legendary tits had claimed another soul.
Anna was floating. Or maybe she was drowning. Either way, she wasn't in control anymore--not of her breath, not of the way her body was trembling under Carrie's hands, and certainly not of the soft, desperate sounds slipping past her lips.
Carrie was whisperin' sweet filth into her ear, all warmth and confidence, her voice low and smug like she knew exactly what she was doin' to her.
"God, you're so fuckin' perfect," Carrie murmured, fingers draggin' down her sides, slow, teasing, intentional.
Anna shuddered, leanin' into her, hands still pressed against those insanely legendary tits, like she needed somethin' to hold onto before she fell apart completely.
She didn't know if she was a lesbian. Didn't know if tonight meant anything about who she was.
