Meet My Parents

For Trevor--

It was the first time we went to meet my parents. We fooled around for nearly two years before starting to date, and have since been dating for three months. Neither of us are fancy people, but you wanted to make a good impression on my parents, so we decided to go to a nice Italian restaurant. Before leaving, I stand in the bathroom in just my bra to get ready. It is your favorite bra, aqua with little fake gems placed strategically on each cup. My luscious 42DD breasts threaten to spill out the top, and though I cannot see past them, I know that my pussy was cleanly shaven; I can feel it, and I frequently reach down to stroke my smoothness.

You sit on my bed to wait for me; it gives you a good view. When you position the closet door with the full-length mirror just right, it is possible to watch me in the bathroom mirror, the same way that hairdressers use mirrors so you can see the back of your hair. I touch up my hair and put on foundation, eye shadow, and lipstick before sliding my glasses back on and walking out of the bathroom, my tits leading the way.

You grab me by the waist, pulling me against you, and slide your hand along my slit, but I pull away with a kiss, slapping your hand playfully despite the juices I have left on your hand. I go into the closet, grabbing a short slinky black dress off the hanger and sliding it over my head. It's sexy without being indecent. Sliding my feet into some heels, I check the mirror once again, and I'm ready to go.

The drive there is uneventful. It's short, and I didn't want to walk in looking like I just rolled out of bed, semen staining my lips. Still, when we get out of the car, I am wet; were in not for the fact that I am wearing black, you would have seen a slightly damp spot.

You hold the door to the restaurant for me, and as I walk past you, I trail my hand along the front of your slacks. My parents are already seated, so I don't linger in leading you to their booth. My parents stand. My mother is about my height, and my father towers over both of us by a good foot at over six feet tall. It's clear I am my parents' child, from the curly hair to the freckles that grace my entire body. I hug and kiss both of them, before turning to you with a big smile.

"Mom, Dad," I say, "this is Trevor. Trevor, my mom, Susan, and my dad, Daniel."

With polite greetings and handshakes exchanged, we sit down. You slide in first, aware that it is inappropriate to ask a woman to "slide." We peruse the menu, the table silent for several moments. After we give our drink orders to the waiter, my mother begins to ask questions.

"Trevor, what do you do?"

"Right now, I'm-" You hesitate for just a moment, the quickest second, as my hand settles on your upper thigh, and with a quick stroke, brushes your cock. "I'm measuring saplings and recording growth rates for graduate students to use in their studies."

While you discuss the uses of this information with my parents, I unbutton and unzip your pants, sliding my hand inside your boxers to grasp you. I love the feeling of you growing hard under my ministrations, and I begin to stroke you to your full length.

The waiter comes back with our drinks to take our orders, and I put both hands above the table to grab the menu and remind myself what I had already chosen to eat, leaving you exposed under the table. With a smile for the waiter, I order braised beef with tortellini. When all the orders have been taken and the menus have been handed over, I turn my attention to my parents, asking them how their medical practice is going. While they talk about the growth in business and the decline in insurance payments, I leave my hands above the table, playing with a straw wrapper as I'm inclined to do. I feel you nudge me a few times with your knee, but I ignore it.

It is not until the salads come that my hand moves back to your thigh. With my dominant hand, I eat my salad, and with my left hand, I cup and squeeze your balls. Your fork clatters against the dish, and you mutter an apology as you pick it back up. My hand strokes your cock gently. As I finish my salad, I dig in my purse for my lotion, complaining of the dry weather as of late. When I have put lotion on my hands and put my hand under the table again, any doubts that may have been lingering in my parents' mind dissipate. They are, however, polite enough not to say anything. With a few more comments on the weather, my father excuses himself for the bathroom, and it provides me the room I need- I slide under the table.

I waste no time in taking your cock in my mouth and deep throating you until I feel your head press against the back of my throat. I gag slightly, but that doesn't deter me. As I rise back up, my head bumps the table, but I barely notice. I hear some medical terms being bandied about, and I know that you are discussing your recent injury to your shoulder. Still, your breathing gets a tad bit faster when my tongue flicks over your head to lick the precum dripping from your slit.

I add a hand to the base of your cock, jerking you in small movements as my mouth goes in the opposite direction on your head. I tug down my dress below my tits and press against you until your cock is between them. About this time, my father comes back to the table and asks what he missed. He does not mention my absence. You take the chance to fill him in, even as your hips begin to move, thrusting your cock to my face. I have no qualms about taking your head into my mouth and sucking with each thrust. My tits drop away from you, and I hear a low groan above my mother's lecture on sticking to the exercise plan if you want your shoulder to feel better.

I emerge from under the table, my tits out for everyone to see, but it is only quick enough to straddle you, plunge down onto your hard length, and rise back up, sinking back under the table. I love to lick my juices off you, and I make sure I don't miss an inch, my tongue lapping along your entire dick. I make sure to take each of your balls, in turn, into my mouth, making sure I do not miss any of my juices at all. My mouth engulfs your cock again until my nose touches your skin, your hair tickling my nose. I can see the waiter's shoes in my peripheral vision, but I am not hungry for the food; I crave your cum.

The waiter seems to know where I am, perhaps he saw me slip under here, or saw me as he walked towards the table; after placing the food in the correct spots, he steps back to a far distance. To any other bystander, he would look like a waiter eager for a high tip, willing to replace any empty glass or bring more parmesan cheese at a moment's notice. The smirk on his face and the gaze he had trained closer to the floor than the tabletop told the real story. He was watching us, and that just makes me hotter. My blowjob becomes more excited, if it is possible.

I feel your balls tighten towards your body, and I know you are almost ready. I lift my mouth off your cock, and aim you at my tits. I jerk you off until your cock spasms, and I feel your hot cum splatter on my tits. Waiting a moment, I gently lick you clean and make you presentable again. I take a few minutes to revel in your load and clean myself up; I lick the semen off each of my tits in turn before readjust my bra and dress. I know that some dried cum will still be seen above my neckline, and the thought makes me drip again. I lick my lips as I maneuver out from under the table. Sitting back in my seat, the conversation about your family does not stop, as though no one knew I was missing.

I run my hand over my hair, smoothing it down, when I feel my shin being kicked. My mother is glaring at me, but says nothing. I simply smile and kiss you. I summon the waiter, asking him to pack my food to go; I'm sure he understands I do not want to lose your flavor. When he comes back with my to-go box, he winks at me, and tells us that we need not tip him; the show was enough.