**The Wet T-Shirt Contest Gone Wild**

It was the annual Springfield Beach Party, and Marge had somehow been talked into entering the wet t-shirt contest. I never thought I’d see the day—her, standing up there in front of everyone, her arms crossed over that ridiculous blue dress she always wore. But today? She was wearing a tight white tank top, no bra, and cutoff jean shorts that hugged her thick hips just right. The moment she stepped onto the stage, I knew I wasn’t going to last long.

The contest hadn’t even started yet, but the way she kept fidgeting, pulling at the hem of her shirt like she was nervous, was driving me crazy. Then the first hose blast hit her—cold water splashing straight over her chest, soaking the thin fabric until it clung to every curve. Her nipples hardened instantly, dark pink circles pressing against the wet cotton. I groaned under my breath, my dick already halfway hard just from watching.

Marge wasn’t even trying to win—she was just laughing, shaking her head as the water ran down her body, but *fuck*, she was winning anyway. Every time she turned, I caught another glimpse of those tits, the way the fabric suctioned against them, outlining every little detail. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed through the crowd, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her away before the next round.

“What are you—?” she started, but I cut her off, dragging her behind the lifeguard station where no one could see us.

“You’re killing me out there,” I growled, pressing her against the wooden wall. My hands went straight to her soaked tits, palming them through the wet fabric. She gasped as I squeezed, her nipples stiff under my fingers.

“I—I didn’t think you’d even be watching,” she breathed, but her hips were already rocking forward, rubbing against my thigh.

“Fuck watching,” I muttered, yanking her shirt up over her tits. The second they were free, I bent down and sucked one stiff nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. She moaned, her fingers knotting in my hair, and I could feel her trembling against me.

Her tits were even better bare—full, soft, with perfect pink tips that got even harder when I bit down just a little. She gasped, her back arching, and I slid one hand down her shorts, finding her pussy already soaked. Not just from the water—she was slick as hell, her lips swollen, her clit throbbing under my fingers.

“You’re this wet just from everyone staring at you?” I teased, rubbing slow circles over her clit.

“N-no,” she whimpered. “It’s—it’s *you*.”

That was all I needed. I unzipped my shorts, my cock springing out, thick and already dripping. I didn’t waste time—just spun her around, bent her over the lifeguard stand, and yanked her shorts down to her knees. Her ass was perfect, round and soft, and I gave it a slap before spreading her cheeks and sinking my cock into her pussy in one hard thrust.

Marge cried out, her fingers clawing at the wood as I fucked her deep, her cunt clenching around me like she’d been waiting for this all day. Every time I pulled back, her wetness coated my dick, the lewd squelch of us fucking mixing with her breathy moans.

“Fuck, you feel *good*,” I grunted, one hand gripping her hip, the other reaching around to pinch her nipple. She gasped, her pussy tightening even more, and I knew she was close.

I bent over her, pressing my chest to her back as my pace turned rough, slamming into her until the whole stand shook. She came with a choked-off scream, her cunt milking my cock as I buried myself deep and emptied inside her, filling her up until I felt it leaking down her thighs.

For a second, we just stayed like that, panting, still pressed together. Then Marge turned her head, her cheeks flushed, and smirked. “So… did I win?”

I laughed, pulling out with a wet pop. “Yeah, Marge. You fucking won.”