Such Sweet Punishment


“It’s so great to see the two of you,” my mother says, pouring another glass of wine. As she sets it down, she reaches for my father’s hand, a bright smile stretching across her face. “It really is,” my father agrees, giving my mother’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “We’re happy to be here, Mom,” I reply for the two of us, placing a hand on your thigh, under the table. I look to you for approval, and you nod, smiling at my parents. Joining the four of us for dinner are my aunt, uncle and four cousins. My aunt is my mother’s sister, a nose on legs with a voice akin to nails scratching a chalkboard. Her husband, Bernard’s personality isn’t at all palatable for anyone without hard liquor involved. His skin is the color of distressed leather, his teeth abnormally bleached-white. He is the type that tans in a salon until he can be described as “extra crispy”. His obsession with remaining “hip” quickly tires most people around him. His job revolves around business, a subject which doesn’t offer much interest to me. I pick at my food as he launches into a story that I can’t be bothered to listen to. My aunt interrupts every couple of minutes to make sure her painfully shrill voice gets heard. I glance at my cousins, who seem to understand what their father is talking about. I nudge one of them, Marie. Of all my cousins, she is closest to my age. She gets her personality as well as personal style from my uncle, and is “lucky” enough to inherit my aunt’s shriek of a voice. She doesn’t respond to me at all. Jerk. My chances for decently interesting conversation dwindle by the second.   Can people die of boredom? I hope not.   You take a sip of wine, and I’m reminded of your presence. My eyes follow the smooth movements of almanbahis your hands; confident and strong. Memories of what those hands can do makes me shiver. I want to leave this table, you’re so much more interesting than anyone here. And as much as I love my family, you never fail to keep me excited. How can I distract you from the conversation without anyone noticing? It’s not as if I can get your attention the usual way; I can’t just strip my clothes and kneel at your feet. I have a sip of my own wine, searching for ideas on how to get the two of us excused from the table without raising suspicion or inviting a ton of questions. My other hand falls to my lap to play absentmindedly with the embroidered fringe as I think. Oh! I notice how long the table cloth is, and an idea hits me. One that will surely get me punished later. The thought twists my stomach in a deliciously sinful knot, and I know immediately what to do. I look around to make sure no one is paying attention to me as I shift just slightly closer to you, hoping you can provide excitement. I begin by sliding my fingers over the inseam of your pants at your thigh, applying just enough pressure so you can feel it through your slacks. I glance around, making sure that no one has noticed my shift. Good. No one has. My fingers inch closer to you, keeping my eyes on my food. Finally I find my prize. I run my thumb over your length, from tip to base, hooking my other fingers into the outline of you over your pants. I watch your back stiffen just a bit and I know I’ll pay a price for teasing you. I bite my lip and continue with my heart pounding in my chest. I find myself praying that no one drops a fork or takes up a sudden urge to look under the table. almanbahis yeni giriş My luck holds, my uncle is still chattering away, my aunt is still interjecting, and everyone else seems to have forgotten my presence. That doesn’t bother me at all; my family is blissfully unaware of my indecency. You continue to eat, to your credit. No one would ever guess by looking at your face what I’m doing to you under the table. I remember I’m supposed to be eating, and take another few bites and a gulp of wine, listening as my uncle continues the most boring story I’ve ever heard. Not being caught emboldens me. The sensation of your pants sliding between my hand and your hardening cock is electrifying. My fingers find your zipper and inch it down, careful of the sound it would make. I swallow a few more hurried bites. My arousal spiking, crossing my legs, rocking forward just a little to try to get a bit of relief from the raging wave of lust washing through me. Your hard cock is out moments later, my hand running up and down its length. This isn’t the first time I’ve had your cock in my hand, and I know just where to squeeze to get you going. Glancing up, I see a familiar spark in your eyes. Uh oh, you already know how you’re going to be dealing with me for this. My nipples tighten at the thought, and suddenly my bra seems absurdly tight. I try to keep my breath steady as my aunt and mother clear the plates off the table. They still haven’t noticed. I know I’m wet, and probably ruining the panties you picked out for me this morning. I slide my thumb over your cockhead, gathering the precum that’s oozing from your slit. I take a sip of wine, then run that precum-covered thumb over my bottom lip, my tongue almanbahis giriş tracing in its path. The mixed tastes of wine and cum surprisingly pleasant. My clit throbs, and I can’t help but imagine taking your hard, hot cock into my mouth… I chew my bottom lip as post-dinner coffee is poured, thankful that my stroking is still going unnoticed. I can tell how close you are. I take my cloth napkin in my other hand, ready to catch your hot, sticky cum. Enduring your retribution for being a cock-tease will be less severe if I can get you to climax. My panties are sticking to me from how wet I’ve gotten, and I want your hands there. I want your fingers stroking inside me. I need you to bury yourself in me. I bite my lip harder, suppressing a building groan of desire. I wish you could hear the mantra playing on repeat in my twisted lust-clouded mind: Please cum for me, Sir… Just as I’m sure you’re about to fall over the edge, your hand pushes mine away. You tuck your cock back into your pants, zip up and somehow pull your phone out of your pocket, all in one fluid motion. Did I do something wrong? I rack my brain, studying the faces of my family for any clue that I’ve blown my cover. “Excuse me, I just received a call from the office. Mind if I borrow your daughter and step into the powder room to take it?” you ask. Using our cover story that I help you organize your work files at home is brilliant. The world knows me as your assistant, making it easy to explain why I’m with you at all hours of the night and day at work, as well as our unconventional personal dynamic. My mother nods with a smile, and we stand. You skillfully hide your arousal by guiding me to walk in front of you. I don’t know what you’re planning for me in the powder room, and my stomach is turning nervously. I fight the urge to rip off my dress and lingerie set, bend over and beg for you to fill me. We finally get upstairs, and you grab me by the arm, pulling me firmly into the bathroom.

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