It happened on a lazy afternoon.

Chi-Chi was dusting near the window, humming to herself in a soft tank top and tight, cotton shorts that barely clung to those thick, swaying hips. Every time she reached up, those shorts hugged her backside like they were hanging on for dear life.

You walked by, pretending not to notice.

You failed.

She bent just a little too far, and that was it.

Fwip.

You yanked her shorts down to her ankles in one swift, sinful motion.

“A-AH!!” she gasped, jumping in place—face exploding in red. “W-What the heck are you—?!”

She froze. Then whimpered.

You looked down.

She was soaked.

Her thick thighs squeezed together on instinct, but it was too late—her slick glistened in the light, dripping just a little, twitching at the cold air on her skin.

“I—I was just—” she stammered, cheeks on fire, voice shaking. “Just trying to get the, um… top shelf...”

She didn’t move to pull them up. Not right away.

Instead, her breath hitched.

“I-It’s rude to pants your wife, you know,” she mumbled, trying to sound scolding—failing miserably.

Her voice cracked. Her knees wobbled. Her bare hips quivered slightly with every passing second.

“…D-Daddy, I was—just—trying to clean…”

She was trembling now. But not from fear. From want.

And you?