Table Top

Dinner time. It wasn't bad, stir fry with peanut sauce and brown rice. He cooked, so when we finished eating I cleared the table. He kept me company, still sitting at the table. As I removed the last plate, he said my name. I paused. "Come over here," he said. I walked back into the dining room.

"Take off your shirt," he said. I glanced up to be sure the curtains were closed. They were. I pulled off my shirt. "Your bra, too." I hate being half dressed in the kitchen, I really do. Still, I took it off. I was curious, and that is a great motivator. "Sit up on the table," he said, and patted the short end. I pulled myself up. My legs dangled.

"Slide back," he said. "Lay down." I lay down. The wood was hard against my shoulder blades. He lifted my skirt and tugged at my panties. I obligingly lifted my hips to help him. I'd rather be naked than wearing just my skirt. I'd rather - well, I'd rather be in bed. I guessed that meant I was enjoying this a least a little.

"Spread your legs," he said. I spread them to the corners of the table. He pushed my knees further apart, so that they hung each over a side of the table, rather than off the end. It's a wide table made out of antique pine planks. It has a certain kind of rustic charm that fades quickly when your skin is rubbing up against it. There weren't splinters, but the unbeveled edges bit into the backs of my legs, now spread uncomfortably wide.

"I want to see you masturbate," he told me. "Touch yourself for me." I obediently ran my fingers over my cunt and clit. I was embarrassed. I'd never masturbated in front of anyone before. Especially not all spread out in this humiliating posture. Still, I tried to obey. I kept my fingers moving and felt myself growing damp. I dipped my fingers in my cunt and drew them up over my clit to spread the wetness. He was watching me intently, standing at the foot of the table. "I want to see you cum," he said. His voice was getting lower, huskier. He had his cock in his hand. "I want you to cum hard, I want to see your cunt pulsing." My embarrassment increased. There was no way.

"I don't think I can cum like this," I said.

"Yes you can, baby," he growled low. "Keep working at it." I closed my eyes and tried to forget he was watching me. I was getting closer. I was really wet, now, imagining he was about to fuck me, imagining his mouth on me. "Open your eyes," he commanded. Immediately all the excitement drained away. The fluorescent light shone in my eyes. The table was cutting into my legs. My clit just felt irritated by my continued rubbing.

"I can't cum for you with my eyes open," I told him. He was still touching his cock. "Let me suck your dick, instead," I said.

"No," he said. He put his hands on my legs, one on each thigh. The slight pressure made the bite of the table sharpen. "You're going to cum for me. You can stay right here for as long as it takes."

(Echoing in my mind was a sit-com dad. "You're not leaving this table until you finish your meal, young lady." I almost laughed, but his hands pressed my thighs more firmly, impressing on me the gravity of the situation.)

I focused my eyes on his and resumed my efforts. He stared down at me, switching focus between my eyes and my pussy. He seemed to have forgotten to touch himself. "Cum for me, baby," he repeated. "Cum for me." My body started jerking from the stimulation - not an orgasm, just tremors. I moved my fingers more quickly, back and forth across my clit. My other hand, without any conscious volition, was squeezing my tit. My whole body was trembling. The world seemed to grow slower and slower. I heard myself crying out. My back arched. His eyes bored into me. Jolts of pleasure shot through me. His hands pressing on my thighs were the only thing keeping me from lifting off. My pussy opened and closed rhythmically like the mouth of a goldfish. I hope he saw it. I don't want to have to show him again.