Elena was still wiping egg from her lip when the front door opened. Not a knock—just the creak of hinges and a man's voice, flat and unfamiliar, with an accent that didn't match the neighborhood.
"This the right house?"
Tía Rosa appeared in the kitchen doorway, already unbuttoning her blouse. She smiled—that warm, knowing smile Elena had come to trust. "The new neighbors wanted to say hello."
A woman stepped into the kitchen first. Blonde, sun-bleached hair pulled back, a sundress that hung loose on thin shoulders. Her eyes found Elena immediately, locked on the naked body still seated at the table, and something in her face went sharp and hungry.
Behind her, the man filled the frame. Broad shoulders in a pale polo shirt, sleeves stretched tight over thick arms. His face was flat, expressionless, but his eyes moved slow from Elena's breasts to the wetness still drying on her thighs, and his mouth curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Well now," the woman said. Her voice was low, rough. "You didn't tell us she'd be having breakfast."
Tía Rosa laughed, easy and warm. "She's always eating. Got to keep her strength up."
Tío Marco's hand found the small of Elena's back, fingers pressing firm, guiding her up from the chair. His other hand swept the plate aside—eggs and tortillas skidding, a smear of yolk across the wood—and he lifted Elena onto the table's edge.
"She's friendly," Tío Marco said, his hand sliding down to cup Elena's ass. "Real friendly."
The blonde woman stepped closer. Her hand came up, fingers brushing Elena's jaw, tilting her face toward the light. "Pretty. Prettier than the pictures." Her thumb traced Elena's lower lip, pressed in. "Open."
Elena opened her mouth. The woman's thumb slid inside, pressed down on her tongue, held there while those sharp eyes studied her like she was inspecting meat at a market.
"Good girl," the woman said, and pulled her thumb out wet. She wiped it on Elena's cheek. "I'm Carrie. This is my husband, Dale."
Dale hadn't moved from the doorway. He stood there, filling the frame, his eyes tracking over Elena's body like he was mapping territory. "Heard about you," he said. His voice was flat, no warmth in it. "Heard you're the one who lets everyone have a turn."
Elena nodded, her cheeks flushing. "I like being friendly."
"Friendly." Dale let the word sit. Then he crossed the kitchen in three long strides, his hand closing on Elena's ankle, yanking her legs apart. She slid on the table, her back hitting the wood, and he was between her thighs before she could breathe.
"Let's see how friendly."
His fingers found her cunt—no warning, no gentleness. Two thick fingers drove into her, and Elena gasped, her back arching off the table. He was rough in a way that was different from the students. There was nothing playful in it, nothing teasing. He was testing her, pushing into her like he was checking if she'd break.
"Christ," he muttered, his fingers curling inside her. "Tight. Like they said."
Carrie laughed, that low rough sound. "Told you." She moved to the side of the table, her hand finding Elena's breast, squeezing hard. No gentle cup—she grabbed, kneaded, her nails digging crescents into the soft flesh. "You like that, girl? You like being handled?"
"Yes," Elena breathed. And she did. There was something honest in the roughness, something that didn't pretend. They weren't asking her if she wanted it. They were just taking it, and that made it real.
Dale pulled his fingers out, wet and glistening, and wiped them on her stomach. Then he was unbuckling his belt, unzipping his jeans, and his cock was out—thick, heavy, the head already slick. He didn't ask. He didn't warn. He just grabbed her hips, angled her, and pushed in.
Elena cried out. Not pain—surprise. The stretch of him filling her, the burn of being taken without ceremony. Her hands flew to the table's edge, gripping the wood as he drove into her, every thrust hard and deep and punishing.
"Look at that," Carrie said, her hand still working Elena's breast. "Taking it like a good little thing. You train her yourself?"
Tía Rosa leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with something like pride. "She learns fast. Doesn't need much training."
Dale's hand found Elena's throat. Not squeezing—just resting there, his palm flat against her pulse, his fingers curling around the sides of her neck. He fucked her with a steady, brutal rhythm, the table creaking under them, and Elena's eyes went wide, staring up at the ceiling as every thrust punched the air from her lungs.
"You close?" Dale said. It wasn't a question. "You gonna come on my cock?"
"I—" Elena's voice broke. The pressure was building, coiling low in her belly, and she couldn't stop it, didn't want to stop it. "Yes. Yes, I—"
"Then come." He pressed harder on her throat, just enough to make her vision swim. "Let me feel it."
She did. Her cunt clenched around him, spasming, and she heard herself moan—a high, desperate sound that filled the kitchen. Dale kept fucking her through it, his rhythm never breaking, until she was limp and trembling beneath him.
He pulled out. His cum was already leaking from her, a thin white trickle running down her thigh, and he watched it with that flat expression.
"My turn," Carrie said.
She shrugged off her sundress, letting it puddle on the floor. Her body was lean, wiry, small breasts with dark nipples already hard. She climbed onto the table, straddling Elena's waist, and Elena felt the wet heat of her pressed against her stomach.
"You ever been eaten out by a woman?" Carrie asked, her fingers threading through Elena's hair, pulling her head back.
"Yes," Elena whispered. "At school. The girls—"
"Tío Marco shook his head. "She stays here. You come here, you use her here. She doesn't leave the house."
Carrie's eyes narrowed. Then she shrugged. "Fine. We'll be back after lunch." She pulled her sundress back on, not bothering to fix it. "Don't let anyone wear her out before we get here."
Dale was already zipping his jeans. He didn't look at Elena again—just walked out, the front door slamming behind him. Carrie followed, and then the house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and Elena's ragged breathing.
Tía Rosa was beside her in a moment, her hand gentle on Elena's cheek, wiping a smear of saliva from her chin. "You did good, mija. Real good."
Elena smiled, still dazed, her thighs sticky and her body trembling. "They were… rough."
"They're friendly," Tía Rosa said, her smile widening. "Just like you."
Tío Marco's hand was on Elena's back again, guiding her off the table. Her legs wobbled when she stood, and cum dripped down the inside of her thigh, leaving a wet trail on the tile. He steadied her, his hand sliding down to cup her ass, squeezing.
"Shower," he said. "Then back out here. We've got a long day."
Elena shuffled toward the bathroom, her body sore and heavy. She turned on the water, stepping under the spray, and let the heat wash over her. She was scrubbing the mess from her thighs when the door opened.
Tío Marco stepped in, still fully clothed, and reached past her to turn off the water. "No time." He grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the shower, and bent her over the sink. His hand found her hip, and then he was inside her again—no preamble, no gentleness, just the hard push of his cock into her wet cunt.
Elena gripped the sink edge, her reflection staring back at her from the mirror—mouth open, eyes wide, hair dripping. He fucked her fast, his hips slapping against her ass, and when he came she felt it—warmth flooding her, leaking down her thighs.
He pulled out, tucked himself away, and left without a word.
Elena stood there, trembling, cum running down her legs, and she smiled.
The rest of the day was a blur of hands. Every time she tried to sit, someone was there—Maria bending her over the armchair, Sofia pulling her onto the kitchen floor, Lucia grabbing her ass as she walked past and guiding her to her knees. She was fucked standing up in the hallway, bent over the back of the sofa, spread across the dining table. She lost count. She lost track. There was only the rhythm of being taken, the weight of bodies pressing into her, the voices saying her name and telling her what a good girl she was.
By evening, she could barely walk. Her legs shook. Her thighs were slick with cum from a dozen men, and her mouth tasted of salt. Tía Rosa found her crumpled on the living room rug, naked and smiling, and helped her to the bedroom.
"Sleep," Tía Rosa said, pulling a thin sheet over her. "They'll be back in the morning."
Elena curled onto her side, her body humming with the memory of every touch. She was warm. She was wanted. She was exactly where she belonged.
She was just drifting off when the door opened again. Footsteps. The weight of someone on the bed behind her. A hand on her hip, pulling her back, and then the slow, thick push of a cock sliding into her from behind.
She didn't open her eyes. She didn't need to see. She just sighed, her body yielding, and let the rhythm carry her back down into sleep.
Elena's eyes fluttered open. The dim light from the hallway painted Tío Marco's face in shadow and gold—his jaw tight, his brow furrowed, his dark eyes fixed on hers with something she couldn't name. His hand pressed over her mouth, warm and callused, and she felt the steady rhythm of his hips against her ass, that slow, deep push that had been carrying her toward sleep.
She blinked up at him, and something in her chest softened. He was watching her. Really watching her, like he wanted to see her face when he took her. The students never did that—they grabbed what they needed, said what they said, and moved on. But Tío Marco was here, his breath warm on her cheek, his hand gentle against her lips, and she felt seen.
"Shh," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "Don't wake the house."
Elena nodded under his hand. He was still thrusting, that same unhurried rhythm, and her body responded automatically—her hips tilting back to meet him, her thighs parting wider. She was sore from the day, a deep, pleasant ache that settled in her bones, but her cunt was still wet, still hungry, still taking him without resistance.
Tío Marco's eyes never left hers. His thumb traced her cheekbone, a gesture so tender it made her breath catch. Then he pressed deeper, his pelvis flush against her ass, and held there. She felt him pulse inside her, felt the warmth of his cum filling her, and she let out a muffled moan against his palm.
He stayed there for a long moment, his forehead dropping to hers, his breathing rough and uneven. When he pulled out, his hand lingered on her mouth, then slid down to cup her chin, tilting her face up.
"You did good today," he said. His voice was quiet, almost gentle. "Everyone's happy with you."
Elena smiled, her eyes heavy. "I just want to be friendly."
"I know." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "That's why we keep you."
He pulled the sheet back over her, tucking it around her shoulders. His hand rested on her hip for a moment, a warm weight, and then he was gone—the door clicking shut, the footsteps fading down the hall.
Elena curled onto her side, her body cooling, the wetness between her thighs already drying to a sticky film. She was so tired. Her bones hummed with exhaustion, her muscles loose and heavy, and she let herself drift, the rhythm of the day still playing behind her eyes.
She dreamed of nothing. Just dark, warm, silent.
When she woke, the room was gray with early morning light. The door was open a crack, and she could hear voices from the kitchen—Tía Rosa's warm laugh, Tío Marco's low rumble, and another voice she didn't recognize.
Elena stretched, wincing as her muscles protested. Her thighs were sticky, her belly smeared with dried cum, and her hair was a tangled mess. She sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around her waist, and listened.
"—said she'd be ready," Tía Rosa was saying. "She's always ready. That's the good thing about her."
"I heard different." The unfamiliar voice was male, young, with a sharp edge. "Heard she's particular about who she lets in."
Tía Rosa laughed. "She lets everyone in. That's the whole point."
Elena swung her legs off the bed, her feet finding the cold floor. Her body ached in a dozen places, but it was a good ache, the kind that reminded her she was wanted. She padded to the door, naked, and pushed it open.
The kitchen was bright with morning light. Tía Rosa stood at the stove, scrambling eggs in a cast-iron pan. Tío Marco sat at the table, a coffee mug in his hand, his eyes finding Elena immediately. And at the counter, leaning against the sink, was a boy she didn't know.
He was young—maybe eighteen, nineteen—with dark hair that fell over his forehead and a sharp jaw that looked like it was still finishing its growth. He was wearing a mechanic's shirt, the name "Jesse" stitched in red over the pocket, and his hands were black with grease. His eyes found Elena, and he went still.
"That her?" he asked.
Tía Rosa turned, spatula in hand, and beamed. "Mija! You're up. Come sit, eat. Jesse here came early—wanted to meet you before the rush."
Elena walked into the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the tile. She could feel Jesse's eyes on her body, tracing every curve, and she smiled at him, warm and open. "Hi, Jesse. I'm Elena."
He didn't answer. His throat moved as he swallowed, and his hands tightened on the edge of the sink.
Tío Marco set down his coffee. "She's friendly," he said. "Why don't you show her how friendly you are?"
Jesse pushed off the counter. He crossed the kitchen in four long strides, and before Elena could blink, his hand was in her hair, fisting the tangles, yanking her head back. His mouth crashed into hers—not a kiss, a claim. His tongue forced its way between her lips, and his other hand found her breast, squeezing hard, kneading the soft flesh like he was testing its weight.
Elena gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound. His grip in her hair tightened, pulling until her neck arched, and he bit her lower lip, hard enough to sting.
"Jesus," he muttered, breaking the kiss. His eyes were dark, hungry. "You're even prettier than the pictures."
Elena's cheeks flushed, and she smiled up at him, her lip already swelling. "Thank you."
His hand left her hair, sliding down to her throat, then lower, between her breasts, over her stomach, until his fingers found the wetness between her thighs. He didn't tease. He pushed two fingers into her without warning, and Elena gasped, her knees buckling.
"Fuck," Jesse breathed. "Tight. Like they said."
He worked his fingers in and out, his palm pressing against her clit, and Elena gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. The burn was back, the stretch, but it was good—it was the feeling of being taken, of being wanted so badly someone couldn't wait.
"You like that?" Jesse asked, his voice low. "You like being finger-fucked in the kitchen first thing in the morning?"
"Yes," Elena breathed. "I like—I like when people are friendly."
Jesse laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Friendly. That's what we're calling it." He pulled his fingers out, wet and glistening, and wiped them on her cheek. "Get on your knees."
Elena dropped. The tile was cold against her knees, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and trusting. He was already unbuckling his belt, his hands moving fast, and when his cock sprang free it was thick and hard, the head already slick.
He didn't ask. He just grabbed her jaw, tilted her face up, and pushed into her mouth.
Elena's eyes watered. The stretch of him filling her throat, the taste of salt and precum, the weight of his hand in her hair—it was rough, it was sudden, and she loved it. She relaxed her throat, let him sink deeper, and her hands came up to grip his thighs.
"Look at that," Jesse said, his voice strained. "Taking it like a pro. You train her yourself?"
Tía Rosa laughed from the stove, eggs still sizzling. "She trains herself. She just wants to make everyone happy."
Jesse's grip tightened. He started to fuck her mouth, a quick, brutal rhythm, his hips snapping forward, and Elena let him take whatever he needed. Her jaw ached, her throat burned, and she felt tears slip down her cheeks, but she didn't pull away. She took it, all of it, because this was what being friendly meant.
He came with a groan, his cock pulsing against her tongue, and Elena swallowed. Every drop. She licked him clean, her eyes still fixed on his, and when he pulled out she was smiling, her lips swollen and wet.
"Fuck," Jesse said again, his chest heaving. He looked down at her, his expression a mix of awe and hunger. "You really are something."
Elena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Thank you."
Tío Marco was watching from the table, his coffee mug inches from his lips, his eyes steady. "She's a good girl," he said. "Doesn't complain. Doesn't say no. Just takes whatever you give her."
Jesse zipped his jeans, his hands still trembling. "The guys at the shop said she was something special. I didn't believe them." He shook his head. "I believe them now."
He crouched down, his hand cupping Elena's cheek, his thumb tracing the wetness on her skin. "I'll be back tonight. You save some of that for me, yeah?"
Elena nodded, her smile widening. "I will."
He stood, gave Tío Marco a nod, and walked out, the front door banging shut behind him.
Elena stayed on her knees for a moment, her body humming. Then Tía Rosa was beside her, a warm hand on her arm, pulling her up.
"Good girl," Tía Rosa said. "Now eat. You've got a long day ahead."
She guided Elena to the table, set a plate of eggs and tortillas in front of her, and Elena ate with the hunger of someone who had burned through everything. Tío Marco's hand found her thigh under the table, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her skin, and she felt the familiar warmth building in her belly.
Tía Rosa's hand found her wrist before the last bite of egg cleared Elena's lips. "Come, mija. Maria and Sofia are here."
Elena let herself be pulled up from the table. Her thighs were still sticky, her belly smeared with dried slick, and she hadn't had a moment to breathe since Jesse walked out. But Tía Rosa's grip was warm and firm, guiding her through the living room where Maria stood by the window, her arms crossed, her dark eyes already tracing Elena's body.
"Took you long enough," Maria said. She crossed the room in three steps, her hand finding Elena's chin, tilting her face side to side like she was inspecting livestock. "She's got that look. The used look."
Sofia appeared from the kitchen, a glass of water in her hand. She set it down without drinking, her eyes fixed on Elena's breasts, the way they swayed with every breath. "Good. I like her when she's broken in."
Maria's hand slid from Elena's chin down her throat, between her breasts, over her stomach. Her fingers found the slick heat between Elena's thighs and pushed in without pause. Two fingers. Dry at first, then wet, the sound of it filling the quiet room.
"Still dripping from that mechanic," Maria said, her fingers curling. "And from Tío Marco. And whoever else had her this morning."
"Jesse," Elena breathed. "His name was Jesse."
Maria circled behind her. Elena felt hands on her hips, tilting her up, and then the thick press of Maria's cock pushing into her from behind. She moaned against Sofia's clit, the vibration making Sofia gasp, and the rhythm of the day began—Maria fucking her from behind while she worked Sofia with her mouth, her body a bridge between them, her own pleasure irrelevant.
"That's it," Maria muttered, her hips slapping against Elena's ass. "Take it all. You're the house cunt now. That means you're ours first."
Elena nodded the best she could, her mouth full, her cunt full, her hands gripping Sofia's thighs. She felt owned. Completely. Every hole filled, every inch of her being used, and she loved it.
Sofia came with a sharp cry, her hips bucking against Elena's face. Elena swallowed, kept licking, kept working until Sofia pushed her away, gasping. Then Maria grabbed her hips harder, drove in deep, and Elena felt the warmth of her cum flooding her insides.
Maria pulled out. Cum dripped down Elena's thigh, warm and thick. She stayed on her knees, trembling, her mouth wet, her eyes glassy.
"Get her on the couch," Maria said, already walking toward the kitchen. "I want another round before lunch."
Tía Rosa was there, her hand gentle on Elena's arm, guiding her to the sofa. Elena lay back, her legs spread, her body open. Sofia sat beside her, fingers tracing lazy circles on her clit, and Maria returned with a glass of water she drank herself, not offering any to Elena.
The rest of the morning blurred. Elena was lifted, turned, filled, emptied. She lost track of who was inside her—Maria's thick cock, Sofia's slim fingers, Tía Rosa's tongue. She was passed from body to body like a platter, each person taking their fill, and she smiled through all of it, telling herself this was what being friendly meant.
At some point, Lucia arrived. Her voice cut through the fog. "Still going?"
"She doesn't stop," Sofia said, her hand working between Elena's legs. "She just keeps taking it."
Lucia knelt beside the sofa, her hand finding Elena's breast. She squeezed hard, her nails digging in. "Let's see how much she can take."
She pulled Elena off the sofa, onto the floor, and positioned her on all fours. Then she pushed into her ass—no warning, no lube, just the dry stretch of it, and Elena cried out, her arms buckling.
"Shh," Lucia said, her hand pressing down on Elena's back. "You can take it. You're the friendliest girl in school, remember?"
Elena's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. She could take it. She would take it. She wanted to be good for them.
Lucia fucked her ass with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one pushing Elena deeper into the carpet. Maria watched from the armchair, her legs crossed, a smirk on her face. Sofia traced patterns on Elena's thigh, her touch light and teasing.
"You're going to spend the whole day like this," Lucia said, her voice low. "On your hands and knees. Being used. And tonight, when you're so tired you can't move, we're going to keep using you. You understand?"
"Yes," Elena whispered, her voice breaking.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Lucia."
"Good girl."
Lucia came with a groan, her hips pressing flush against Elena's ass. She stayed there for a long moment, then pulled out, and Elena felt the empty space where she'd been filled, a cold ache that was almost worse than the stretch.
Sofia was there, her hand cupping Elena's chin. "One more before lunch. Open."
Elena opened her mouth. Sofia's cock slid in, slick with her own wetness, and Elena sucked her until she came, swallowing every drop.
By the time the sun was high, Elena could barely hold herself up. She lay on the living room rug, her body a map of handprints and bite marks, her thighs slick with cum from a dozen loads. Tía Rosa brought her water, held it to her lips, and Elena drank like she'd been in the desert.
"You're doing so well, mija," Tía Rosa said, brushing hair from her face. "Just a few more hours before dinner."
Elena smiled, her eyes half-closed. "I'm happy."
"I know you are."
The afternoon brought more of the same. Elena was fucked on the kitchen floor while Tío Marco ate his lunch at the table. She was bent over the back of a chair while Maria watched television. She was pulled onto a lap, ridden like a toy, then passed to the next person like a joint at a party.
She lost count. She lost time. There was only the rhythm of being taken—the push and pull, the heat and wet, the voices telling her she was good, she was friendly, she was exactly what they needed.
When the light turned orange through the windows, Tía Rosa found her crumpled in the hallway, her body trembling, her eyes glassy. "Shower time, mija. You're a mess."
Tía Rosa led her to the bathroom, helped her into the stall. The water was hot, steaming, and Elena stood under it, letting it wash the evidence of the day from her skin. She was alone for a full minute before the door opened.
Sofia stepped in, naked, her body sleek with steam. She didn't speak. She just pushed Elena against the tile, her hand finding Elena's cunt, sliding in easily. The water ran over them, hot and loud, as Sofia fucked her against the wall, her mouth on Elena's neck, her teeth grazing the skin.
Elena gripped the tile, her forehead pressed to the cool ceramic, and let Sofia take her. The water muffled their sounds, the slap of skin, the wet slide of Sofia's fingers. Sofia's other hand found Elena's breast, squeezed hard, and Elena moaned, her knees buckling.
"Don't you dare fall," Sofia said, her voice sharp. "You take it standing up."
Elena forced her legs to hold. Sofia fucked her harder, faster, her fingers curling inside Elena, and Elena came with a cry that was swallowed by the sound of the water.
Sofia pulled out, rinsed her hands, and left without a word.
Elena stayed against the tile, her body shaking, her breath ragged. The water ran cold before she finally stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel that Tía Rosa handed her.
"Dinner in an hour," Tía Rosa said. "Rest until then."
Elena shuffled to the back room, collapsed onto the bed. Her body hummed with exhaustion, every muscle aching, every nerve raw. She curled onto her side, the towel falling open, and let herself drift.
She dreamed of nothing. Just dark, warm, silent.
When she woke, the room was dark. A weight was on the bed behind her. A hand on her hip, pulling her back. She didn't open her eyes. She just sighed as a cock slid into her—slow, thick, familiar. Tío Marco's voice murmured something she didn't catch, his hand resting on her stomach as he settled behind her.
He didn't move. He just held, his cock deep inside her, his breathing slow and even. Elena smiled in the dark, her body yielding, her mind floating.
She drifted in and out of sleep. The weight shifted. The cock stayed. At some point, she was vaguely aware of the door opening, of another body pressing against her front, of hands guiding her face to a wet cunt. She sucked in her sleep, a dreamlike motion, her body moving on autopilot while Tío Marco kept filling her from behind.
The night was a blur of bodies. She woke with a cock in her mouth. She woke with fingers working her clit. She woke with someone's cum drying on her stomach. She never fully surfaced—just floated in the warm dark of being wanted, being taken, being theirs.
At some point, the bodies stilled. The breathing around her deepened. She was on her side, a body pressed against her back, another against her front. She was still filled. The cock inside her had softened but hadn't slipped out, and the warmth of it, the fullness, made her feel anchored. Safe. Kept.
She opened her eyes. The room was dark. She couldn't see who was inside her. She didn't need to. She just smiled, her body a bridge between two sleeping forms, her cunt full of a man who hadn't bothered to withdraw.
In the warm dark, Elena smiled. She was exactly where she belonged.