We've decided to stay at your parents for the weekend. We finished dinner and dessert but we're still sitting at the table talking and it's going on midnight.
Your hand has been resting on my thigh the entire time. But you've had a few beers now and you're feeling flirty. Your hand creeps up and down my thigh, occasionally squeezing it and trailing your fingers around. I've had to close my legs a few times in order to keep you from doing anything more. You caught on and trapped my leg closest to you between your leg and the leg of the chair.
Your hand dives between my legs, under my skirt as your mom and I talk. I suppress a moan as you play. Your fingers dance. Push and rub my panties against my pussy. I can't hold in my moan this time. I mask it as a sound of agreement to what your mom says. You smile.
As your parents clear the table, I ask to help, hoping to get a break from your touches.
"No dear, you just relax," you mom says.
You drink to hide your laughter. As they leave, your hand slips into my panties. It's warm against my skin. You rub my clit. I'm already soaked. I move my free leg wider to give you better access. You grin and keep going. Down. Between my soft wet folds.
I moan just loud enough for you to hear. My hand travels across your leg to your lap. You're hard. You strain against your pants. I lean towards you, nibble at your ear, "I need you." Your finger pushes into me. I grip you. You groan. "Please, baby."
