Chapter 8: Possessive Tease
The chilled metal of Jen’s fork scraped against her plate as she cut into her roast, her eyes fixed on Kevin. “You’re quiet tonight,” she said, and under the table, Ashley’s thumb swept over his tip, her other hand still holding her own fork poised above her vegetables.
Kevin forced a swallow of potatoes, his smile tight. “Just thinking about work, Jen.”
Ashley’s fingers, slick from her touch, finally hooked the lace waistband of his panties and slid his small cock free into the cool, dangerous air beneath the table. He jolted at the sudden exposure, a sharp inhale catching in his throat as her fist closed around him, and across the table, Jen’s eyes narrowed, her fork hovering. “Is everything okay, Kevin? You look flushed.”
“Just hot in here,” he managed, his voice strangled as Ashley’s thumb found a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Pass the potatoes, Ash?” she asked sweetly, her other hand lifting the serving bowl while her hidden one tightened its pace.
Her fingers slid lower, beneath his shaft, and she squeezed his balls, which were still just inside the panties, a sharp, possessive pressure that made his leg twitch against the table leg. “Kevin?” Jen said, her voice dipping into suspicion as his fork clattered loudly against his plate.
“It’s the, uh, the gravy,” Kevin stammered, his voice cracking as he gestured weakly toward the boat of beige liquid. Ashley returned to stroking him at a faster pace, her fingers a relentless, slick pulse that made the polished wood of the chair feel like it was vibrating against his skin.
A soft, choked gasp escaped Kevin’s lips as Ashley’s thumb pressed hard against his tip, the world narrowing to that single, slick point of contact. “Kevin, stand up right now,” Jen commanded, her voice slicing through the dining room’s thick silence.
Ashley’s hand vanished as Kevin shoved his chair back, the legs screeching against the floor, and he rose, his hard cock springing free above the lace of his panties, glistening and exposed. A single bead of precum trembled, then fell, spotting the polished oak beneath Jen’s furious, unblinking gaze.
“You disgusting boy,” Jen hissed, her voice low and venomous. “Get into the corner and face the wall until that thing decides to behave.”
He shuffled to the corner, his bare feet cold on the hardwood, and Jen followed, yanking the lace panties down his trembling legs before spreading crackling newspaper sheets on the floor beneath him. Ashley took another bite of roast, a soft giggle escaping her as she watched Kevin’s exposed back tremble, the only sound now the rustle of newsprint and the steady, punishing tick of the clock.
After the dishes were cleared and Jen had retreated to the living room, Ashley drifted past his corner, her fingers brushing and then tightening around his still-hard flesh for one illicit, pumping second. “Stop—she’ll see,” he whispered, a shudder of unwanted pleasure rocking his hips, but she was already gliding past him toward the hallway, leaving him achingly alone with the rustling newspaper and his shame.
His erection finally faded, leaving a damp, cooling shame between his legs. Jen noticed the change, her footsteps silent on the hardwood as she approached, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his skirt to yank it down around his ankles.
She snatched a dish towel from the counter and rubbed his damp cock with a rough, efficient motion that made him wince. “You’re a messy thing, aren’t you?” she muttered, before tossing him a pair of plain white cotton panties and a floral nightgown. “Put these on; the lace is for good boys who can control themselves.”
Later, in the narrow guest bed, the scent of newsprint still seemed to cling to his skin. Ashley rolled over and nuzzled his hip, her lips pressing a soft, persistent kiss against the cotton covering him, and he stiffened, a low groan escaping as he felt himself hardening traitorously against the fabric.
Her fingers hooked into the leg hole of his plain cotton panties, pulling the fabric aside before her mouth, hot and insistent, found him. The sharp, shocking wetness erased the last ghost of newspaper and corner-standing shame, replacing it with a crawling, total need that made him fist his hands in the sheets.
He grabbed her head, his fingers tangling in her black hair as his hips pistoned upward, the wet sound of her mouth and his own ragged breathing filling the dark room, his whole body coiling toward that final, shattering release. Then she pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving him throbbing and exposed on the damp sheets.
She giggled as she rolled over to sleep. He attempted to slide his cock between her legs, but she swatted him and told him he hadn’t earned it yet.