The dining room buzzed with warmth and chatter as John crouched under the long oak table, the heavy linen tablecloth shielding him from view. Above, his wife Linda’s voice rang out clearly, calm and charming as ever. “Oh, John? He’s just tied up with something. He’ll join us shortly.” Her laugh floated across the room, light and teasing, and he could almost see the flick of her hand as she waved away concern.
He shifted on his knees, the wooden floor cool beneath him. The scent of garlic butter and freshly baked bread hung in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of wine and perfume. Chairs creaked as the family settled in, forks clinking softly against porcelain plates. Starters had just been served, prawns glistening, their delicate shells steaming, and bowls of olives glinting under the golden glow of the overhead chandelier.
From his hidden vantage point, John could see glimpses of movement. Leather shoes, heels tapping lightly, legs shifting under elegant dresses. Linda’s family was visiting them for Christmas and New Year. This had been Linda’s idea, a reward for putting up with her family, a flirtatious dare whispered into his ear as the lay in bed last night. “If you’re feeling brave,” she’d said, her lips brushing his ear, “hide under the table during dinner. Let’s see if you can surprise me.”
He wasn’t entirely sure how far this game was meant to go, but Linda had a way of pulling him into her wild schemes. As he adjusted his position, his eyes landed on an orange dress and two long sexy legs. He recognised the dress instantly as she had been wearing it earlier, the hem brushing just above the knees. His pulse quickened.
He shifted closer, the world above a blur of voices and clinking cutlery. His heart raced as he reached out, his fingers brushing the hem, curiosity and desire overpowering hesitation.
Slowly, he lifted the edge of the dress, his breath catching as more of her skin was revealed. Smooth, bare, untouched by the usual lace or fabric he expected. She was shaved, a rare surprise that sent a thrill through him. His lips twitched into a grin as he realised she’d prepared herself for him. The sight ignited something in him, a spark that burned into a need he couldn’t resist.
Carefully, so as not to draw attention, he slid closer. His fingers traced along her inner thigh, his touch deliberate, teasing. He watched her body tense, her legs shifting slightly as he continued his slow exploration. The thrill of knowing she was growing more excited, even as their family sat mere feet away, only emboldened him. He could smell her excitement, musky and warm, there was a sheen on her bald lips, she was waiting for him.
His lips brushed against her, soft at first, teasing the sensitive folds of her warmth. His tongue flicked gently over her, tracing the edges with delicate precision. The taste of her was intoxicating, earthy and raw, a bit different to her usual taste, and it sent a surge of heat through him as he pressed further. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, the slightest shift in her posture telling him everything he needed to know.
He traced the edges of her warmth with his tongue, slow and deliberate, dipping between her folds to draw out the rich, tangy depths of her flavour. His fingers slid into her wet core with ease, her heat wrapping around them as he moved with precision.
He alternated between slow, sweeping licks and playful flicks. His fingers matched the rhythm, inside her. He felt her body tighten around them, her walls pulsing as he curved his fingers upward, finding the spots that made her thighs tremble.
Her breathing grew shallow, her body betraying her growing need. He worked slowly, skilfully, savouring every moment as his hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady. Above the table, laughter and conversation continued, oblivious to the tension hidden beneath.
Her legs quivered against him, and he felt her stifled moans as her body arched subtly, every twitch and tremble telling him she was close. Above the table, conversation carried on, oblivious, as John lost himself in the delicious act of bringing her silently to the edge.
Each flick of his tongue drew a faint, barely perceptible twitch from her thighs, her body betraying her rising pleasure.
As his tongue circled her most sensitive point, the taste deepened, becoming almost sweeter as her arousal grew. He licked and sucked gently, letting the flavour coat his lips, his mouth. It was irresistible, each stroke of his tongue designed to heighten her response, to draw out more of the exquisite taste that made her body quake.
Above him, voices carried on, cheerful and oblivious. Linda’s laugh rang out again, light and composed, as if slightly further away. The thrill of it all consumed him, the audacity of what they were doing, the closeness of discovery. Every soft tremble of her body, every shift of her hips, spurred him on.
John focused, his movements deliberate, his tongue circling, teasing, exploring. He varied the rhythm, sometimes slow and lingering, sometimes quick and insistent, gauging her response to every change. He could feel her legs quivering now, her thighs tightening around his head.
Her climax hit her silently, her body tensing. He felt her thighs clamp together round his head, so tight he could feel her muscles trembling as the pleasure washed over her. The warmth of her release, a sudden rush of fluid from her washing over his mouth and tongue, the way she quivered and pulsed, filled him with triumph. She quivered against him, her silent moans vibrating through her body as he devoured her with unrelenting hunger, savouring every drop as though it were the most decadent dish he’d ever tasted. This was his starter, and he wanted every last morsel.
John leaned away slowly, grinning in the darkness of the table’s shelter, his heart pounding with exhilaration.
As starters were finished, chairs scraped softly against the wooden floor, and voices carried as everyone started to drift away from the table as the roast would still be a while. John remained hidden beneath the tablecloth, waiting for his chance to slip out unnoticed. His heart was still racing, his body humming with the lingering thrill of what had just happened.
When the room finally emptied, he carefully emerged from his hiding spot, adjusting his shirt and running a hand through his hair and wiping his lips. He stepped quickly into the kitchen, feigning nonchalance as he approached. This had gone perfectly, or so he thought, until his eyes landed on Linda.
She wasn’t wearing the orange dress.
Her slim, athletic frame was dressed in a sleek black ensemble that clung to her just right, a stark contrast to the vibrant orange dress he’d expected to see, her usual confidence radiating from her every move. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, her lips curving into a smile as she walked towards him. “And where have you been?” she asked softly, her voice teasing yet laced with curiosity.
John froze for a split second, his mind scrambling for an answer. “Oh, I, uh... chickened out,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. He couldn’t hold her gaze for long, glancing over her shoulder instead. That’s when he saw her.
Mary.
Linda’s sister stood by the dining room door, casually chatting with one of the other guests. She was wearing the orange dress, her posture relaxed, her hair swept back elegantly. John’s breath caught. The dress was unmistakable, the same one he’d been so intimately acquainted with just minutes ago. His stomach twisted in a knot of disbelief as the truth slammed into him like a freight train.
His heart pounded as the realisation hit him. Linda had always teased him about finding her sister attractive, a joke she made often enough to make him squirm. It was true Mary was stunning, tall and slim, athletic like her sister, they were alike in many ways, and John always told Linda that the only parts of her sister he found attractive were those that reminded him of her. Now, the joke felt like it had taken on a whole new dimension.
Linda tilted her head, her smile deepening as she studied his flustered expression. “You alright, John?” she asked, her amusement barely concealed.
But John barely heard her, his gaze fixed on Mary.
