The night was far from over. Although the clock on the wall in the kitchen read a quarter past three.
The group separated through the house. Jeff, and Lisa to his master bedroom where they had gone so that Lisa could escape her damp garment. Scott with them too took his pick of Jeff's graphic tees. Monet and Donna retreated to Donna's bedroom to change.
"Sweat pants and any tee is fine" Monet purred walking through the threshold. Her voice as silky and as sweet honey. Making her request sound sultry. She stripped her top and skirt revealing nothing but chocolate panties. The tone of the underwear seemed to melt and meld with her skin perfectly.
Gliding between her thighs and curving up the swell of her backside. Her body a delicious contradiction of firm yet supple, strong yet soft. Like melted chocolate in a bowl ready for dipped fingers.
Her her hips swayed like the ebbs and flows of voluptuous waves in a dangerous sea -Slow, deliberate, and dangerously hypnotic- as she strode to the spacious closet.
"Oh honey we must do something about these plastic hangers." She murmured, her voice laced in playful critique, and not a hint of condescension "But they will do for now" she added with a soft exhale while placing her garments on hangers.
At Monet's decent from the shadow of the closet Donna felt her breath catch in her throat. She could only stare awestruck at the figure before her.
Monet sauntered around the room with comfortable ease. Her breasts sat high, perky and proud, with delicate nipples teased to attention by the ambient chill. Below, her waist narrowed in with an impossible elegance, cinched tight by nature’s own provocative design.
Breaking her trance Donna moved quickly to the dresser. Beautifully carved from rich oak, the dresser stood as a testament to craftsmanship—its surface adorned with delicate swirls and intricate designs that danced along the wood like whispered secrets. A grand mirror crowned it, tall and graceful, reflecting everything with an air of quiet luxury.
"I'm not sure if I have anything that will fit you. Would you settle for an oversized t-shirt." She asked shyly. "Honestly that sounds perfect." cooed Monet.
Donna began to rifle through her drawers with urgency, fingers brushing past cotton and lace until they landed on her favorite t-shirt. Soft and worn in all the right places, it was a simple white tee, boldly stamped with GAME DAY in thick blue block letters across the chest.
It wasn’t just her favorite—it was her best. The one that held memories, comfort, and just the right cling. And still, without hesitation, she offered it—gladly. proudly.
Monet slid in to the shirt like water gliding over oil. It hung loosely on her. It's largeness exaggerated by her small frame. "It's perfect" she said spinning on her heels in front of the mirror. "Thank you, now, hurry and get rid of those wet clothes and join us in the kitchen. I'm hungry"
The interaction with Monet had dulled all of Donna's senses for the few minutes that she had been in her presence. So much so that the chill from her damp dress had simply evaded her. The silver tassels grazing her bare back seemed to bring her since back -Like a splash of icy water in the face upon waking- chilling her whole body. Her body that was much more plush than Monet's.
Without thinking she turned to stand in front of the mirror and undress like she had done everyday for the past few weeks. Except this time it wasn't as enjoyable.
Her gaze drifted downward, catching the full swell around her thighs and the soft pouch that rested just beneath her navel. The subtle curve of her love handles peeked from her hips, tender and unhidden. She noticed the density in her calves, the delicate dimples just above the voluptuous curve of her backside—small details that suddenly pulsed with awareness.
A hush of disappointment stirred in her chest. It crept in quietly, as she realized she was the fullest of the three girls. Her body was more cushioned, her hips were more broad, her thighs and backside more plump. Her body was just all together more. A flush of shame crept in, quiet but sharp, curling beneath her skin like something she shouldn’t name.
The pride that she felt in herself before getting dressed all but dissipated. Whereas earlier she had wanted to show every bit of herself, now she just wanted to covered up. Turning from the mirror abruptly she again rummage through her drawers again. Searching with quiet urgency until she found the familiar fabric.
It wasn’t anything special—just a simple, knee-length cotton nightgown with long sleeves and a scattering of soft pink flowers that danced across the white. Lettuce frills around the hem and sleeve. Modest, ordinary… comforting. It was the kind of garment that asked for nothing and gave everything: warmth, softness, and just enough to hide what she had been showing so proudly earlier that night.
Scott was the first to see Donna. He stood half-hidden behind the open double-door fridge, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
“You are the sexiest grandma I’ve ever seen. I mean, just look at those ankles—pure temptation,” he teased, voice dripping with coy mischief.
If not for the rich, warm caramel of Donna’s skin, the flush in her cheeks would’ve lit up the room. Still, her blood ran hot beneath the surface, spreading a viceral heat that made her toes curl on the cool kitchen floor.
Jeff stood at the counter cracking eggs into a large white porcelain bowl. An assortment of veggies and cheeses were spread about the counters around him. Behind him Monet busied herself at the opposite counter. Moving with focus as she worked. She held a large sharp knife in one hand the other she held firmly pressed to fragrant red pepper on a ceramic slab cutting board. The clatter of the knife made a sharp snap as Monet's nimble fingers moved expertly. Fast and careful at the same time.
Lisa sat on a high stool tucked against the raised part of the kitchen counter. Even slumped, her posture looked immaculate in a complicated sort of way—like a marble statue, sculpted with deliberate, meticulous hands.
She too wore an oversized tee accompanied by only her underwear. She too had a physique that could make envy rage. Long and slender, sleek but full in small ways.
Moving toward the kitchen sink, Donna asked, “Can I help with anything? What are you guys making?” She turned on the faucet and began washing her hands, already preparing herself to join in—eager not just to help but to be apart.
“We’re making omelets,” Lisa announced, her eyes bright as she watched the flurry of movement across the counter like it was a stage performance.
“You aren't making anything,” Scott cut in, not even looking up.
Lisa rolled her eyes, unfazed. “I’m the kitchen manager,” she replied airily. “I’m making sure you guys don’t set fire to the place--or chop off a limb.” “Sure, sure you are, sweetie,” Monet teased, flashing her a knowing smile.
Jeff chuckled as he cracked another egg, glancing up at Donna with a flicker of mischief in his eye. “What would you like in yours? I’m at your beck and call, my dear,” he said with a wink, voice low and playful.
Donna hesitated, feeling the weight of unseen eyes. She knew it was in her head—mostly—but still, she felt them noticing. The soft edges of her body, the extra softness she’d just examined with quiet frustration in the mirror not fifteen minutes ago.
“Actually… I’m not hungry,” she said softly, drying her hands on a dish towel.
Jeff paused, the smile still in his voice. “Okay,” he said gently. “But if you get snack-ish, just say the word. I’ll whip something up for you on demand.”
“Thank you, best friend,” Donna said with a shy smile, turning to him. “You’re always the best.”
“Always,” he replied, flicking an egg shell into the trash.
Their bond was easy, familiar. The kind of friendship built on inside jokes, shared snacks, and late-night binge-watching. It was deliciously real in all the ways that mattered.
After everything was said and done, the friends lounged jovially around the kitchen—plates half-full, laughter dancing easily between them. The scent of melted cheese, warm eggs, and herbs clung to the air, mingling with the crisp citrus bite of Scott’s freshly poured mimosas.
They chatted about last night’s half-forgotten moments, inside jokes resurfacing like old songs, and tossed around loose, hopeful plans for the rest of the day.
Donna sat with them, glass in hand. She sipped her mimosa slowly, letting the cool bubbles distract her from the gnawing at her stomach—not hunger, exactly, but the ever-present hum of self-awareness. She didn’t eat. She couldn’t—not with the invisible eyes of comparison pressing down on her, not after the way her reflection had made her shrink.
But she laughed when the others did, smiled when eyes turned her way, and leaned into the moment as much as she could manage even chiming in with an antic or two.
The morning seemed to progress a bit more quickly now. Dawn was upon them, casting soft light across the kitchen, though a quiet tiredness lingered in the air.
Jeff was the first to excuse himself. Ever the perfect host, he gathered everyone’s plates and stacked them neatly in the sink, deciding they could wait until after sleep had its way with them.
Donna was next to retire. She hadn’t wanted to linger any longer than necessary. With a small, ironic smile, she offered a round of “Good night-slash-good mornings,” earning a few lazy chuckles as she slipped off to her room.
It wasn’t long after her head hit the soft, fluffy pillows that her eyes grew heavy and drifted closed—sleep overtaking her like a warm tide, quietly and completely.
She wasn't asleep for long before she felt the soft caress of hands on her thigh. Playful, Smooth, taunting.
Without fully realizing it, her body melted into the warm caress of a hand gliding along her skin. She didn’t turn to see who it was—she didn’t need to. The touch was gentle, reassuring… wanted. It was enough just to feel someone there. Their bodies eased into one another, limbs slowly entwining, breath syncing in the quiet. And like that, they slipped into sleep—tangled, warm, and wrapped in the hush of something tender.