“Don’t be nervous.” He patted right above my knee as he put the car in park in the driveway.
“I’m not,” I lied. I swallowed and carefully stepped out of the car, smoothing and tugging at my skirt as I did.
“What did I say?” He grabbed my hand away and squeezed it as my cheeks flashed hot and red. I could feel the breeze between my legs, all the muscles in my body working hard. Wondering what kind of cock-drunk haze I was in when I agreed to this ridiculous idea.
His parents were at the door, smiling brightly, looking like a couple from an insurance commercial. Handsome, wholesome, and of fucking course the house smelled like roast chicken and apple pie.
“It’s so nice to meet you!” his mom said, pulling me into a tight hug. I hugged her back, taking careful little baby steps into the house before hugging his father.
“Come on in,” he said, ushering us into the living room where every piece of furniture was expensive, immaculate, and the exact kind of material that would show even the slightest stain or drop of moisture. I was fully, entirely fucked, and he fully, entirely knew how his parents had furnished their living room when he made me agree to this shit.
My mind flashed back to right as we were getting ready to leave. Him grabbing my wrist as I was getting my purse. Wordlessly pressing me against the wall, slipping his hand between my legs and pulling my panties down.
I searched frantically for the bathroom but he must have read my mind because he tightened his grip on my hand and pulled me to the couch. My eyes were saucers, staring at the fabric. There’s no fucking way they won’t notice. Maybe I can just eat here? Maybe I can talk them into having dinner out here..and he can make me a plate, and..no, there’s no way. I’m fucked.
As I started to sit, I could feel the cum begin to slip so I clenched my muscles and awkwardly sat down with my legs crossed tightly. In this way, my thigh and ass cheek were the parts making contact with the couch, rather than the pussy he had just unloaded into not 45 minutes earlier.
“So, P tells me you went to school in North Carolina?” his dad asked, cleaning his glasses and regarding me with a pleasant, dadly face.
“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “UNC. Sorry. Yes. Uh, English major, you know, very lucrative..” I trailed off. It was becoming exceedingly hard to concentrate on anything but the muscles below my belly button.
“Well these days it really doesn’t matter what you major in, just that you went to school,” his mom said sweetly.
We all chuckled. Which was horrible. Laughing. Not good. Laughing, coughing, or moving were pretty much out of the question. We had agreed I would make it till after dinner, but every time I frantically looked at the clock, it seemed like it hadn’t budged. It was only 5:45 and they said dinner would be at 6:30.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” his mom said, a nervous edge to her voice that most southern women get when you refuse any kind of hospitality.
“Well, I suppose if you’re going to have a glass of wine..” it was probably best to be conciliatory. I didn’t have to actually drink the stuff, just slowly sip it so as not to give offense. The last thing I needed was a full bladder compounding my predicament.
We sipped and chatted, and I managed somehow to keep my lower half frozen solid while my upper half continued to act like a human person. Finally it was time for dinner. Good only because it meant this preposterous situation would soon be coming to an end, bad because it meant I had to stand up and move to the kitchen table without leaking anywhere.
Standing up took some effort but I did it. Every step was torture. Who puts their kitchen so far from their living room?? Honestly. But I was almost there, one hand on the back of my chair, when I felt a droplet slide down my thigh, cooling in the air on my skin. I bit my lip and plopped down into my chair, clamping my thighs together and whisking my napkin onto my lap. I dabbed at the droplet, now on the back of my knee, while his mother passed the rolls.
I truly don’t remember what we talked about at dinner. I think his dad retired from the post office but he also served in some branch of the military before that. His mom was a teacher. His brother is…somewhere and I think has a kid?
I stared at his father as he mopped up the few remaining globs of mashed potato from his plate, trying very hard not to allow that image to conjure other images in my mind. When he pushed the last bite into his mouth I hopped up from the table, grabbing as many nearby plates as I could and hurrying to the sink.
“I’ll just dip to the restroom, back in a sec,” I called in a sing-song voice, at this point no longer fighting with gravity just racing against time. I bolted upstairs to the bathroom and practically teleported to the toilet. Every muscle in my body relaxed as the cum spilled out of me and into the bowl. Thank fuck. I survived. I am disgusting.
I wiped and washed my hands, staring at my face in the mirror. I looked fine, amazingly, despite feeling like a gross little pig. I smoothed my clothes and left the bathroom, running smack into my boyfriend.
“You absolute monster!” I hissed, slamming my hand on his chest. He chuckled and grabbed both my wrists, pinning me back against the wall.
“I think it was fun,” he said, keeping my wrists above my head with one hand, sliding the other between my legs. “Still wet, huh?” He took his two fingers and pushed them into my mouth where I could taste both of us, still. As much as I hated to admit it, it turned me on. A lot. I nodded.
He kissed me and pushed his hand back between my legs, stuffed his wet fingers into my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit. My legs started to give but he kept me up.
“Apple pie for dessert!” his mom called from downstairs.
“Mmm,” he growled in my ear. “Pie.”