Dinner was torture.
I sat across from Elena at the long oak table, fork trembling in my hand as I pushed pasta around my plate. Dad was in his usual spot at the head, talking animatedly about some merger at work, completely oblivious. Elena smiled at him sweetly, nodding at all the right moments, but her bare foot kept sliding up my calf under the table, toes brushing higher and higher until they pressed firmly against my still-damp p***y through my shorts.
Every time I shifted, trying to escape, she pressed harder, rubbing slow circles over my c**t with her big toe. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. My n*****s were hard again, visible through my thin tank top if anyone bothered to look. Elena’s eyes kept flicking to them with dark amusement while she laughed at
