The Dinner Party

"Would you like to sit down?" her father asked after too long a pause.

I was about to accept, but Miranda interrupted. "Dad, I was going to take him on a tour of the house." She glanced at me, "I bet you'd like to see how your students live and where they study."

I looked over to her dad and he shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, obviously relieved to not have to entertain me with conversation anymore.

I looked into Miranda's smiling eyes, "Well, lead the way, miss." She surprised me by taking me by the hand and guiding me into the next room, the dining room, where the table was already set for dinner. Her mother walked in and she quickly let go of my hand before her mother saw.

"Giving Mr. Applegate the guided tour?" her mother asked as she busied herself with some cloth napkins.

"That's the plan," she said as she walked into the kitchen, bidding me to follow.

We toured the downstairs without much incident. Indeed, other than Miranda being dressed to kill, and a few moments of innocent contact, their was no indication that Miranda thought anything of me at all except that I was her teacher and she was my student, eager to show off her house.

Eventually she led me upstairs. When I balked at following for fear of invading the family's privacy, she said simply, "Don't be silly. You want to see where I read and write don't you?"

I shrugged and acquiesced, following her up the stairs, unable to keep my eyes from leering at her tight young ass and the hemline of her skirt. The pleats bounced a bit as she moved up the stairs and for a moment I was sure I caught a glimpse of the top of her tights, or rather I should say, stockings, as they were obviously thigh highs. It was a weakness of mine, that moment where the dark material of the stocking contrasts with the pale white flesh of a woman's upper thigh.

I bit my lip and tried very hard not to think about it.

When we got to her room, she nervously stepped aside and invited me in. It still had quite a bit of the high school Miranda in it. Pictures of her in her prom dress and field hockey uniform. Photos of friends I recognized as students of years past. As I moved through the room, inspecting its contents, she stood aside, hands held behind her back, nervously standing on one foot while the other sort of ground itself into the ground.

I looked over at her, "It's very nice," I said, "Looks like a fine place to read and write. Seems you've met Virginia Wolf's request for a room of one's own." It was then I saw the Victoria's Secret bag on the floor next to her. My eyes fell on it a bit too long.

Miranda looked down. "Oh, that," she said. Just then her mother's voice came up the stairs calling us to the table.

Miranda yelled back, "Be right down, mom" and then did something that left me stunned. She reached under her skirt, hooked her thumbs into what turned out to be a black lace thong and slid it down her long stocking clad legs.

Stepping out of her thong, she held it up for me to see. She took a deep breath, her cheeks turning as red as her lipstick, her hands shook a bit, but she forced it out. "You were curious what was in the bag," she placed her thong into my hand as I stared at her dumbfounded. "That was," she said and passed me by to go downstairs to dinner.

Without thinking I shoved the thong into my pocket and followed her, Not quite sure what to say, but understanding how bold she had been to put herself out there like that.

Miranda

I still can't believe I did that! What was I thinking? Having my former teacher in my room was awkward and exciting. Usually my parents flip if I try to bring a boy to my room, but there they were downstairs, perfectly happy to let me be alone with Mr. Applegate. And then his eyes fell on my Victoria's Secret bag.

I knew he was checking me out earlier when he saw me in my dress and stockings. I was suddenly hit with a burst of confidence. He was into me, and I wanted to tease him and take control. I wanted to let him know that I wasn't a silly high school girl, but a woman thinking about him in the exact same way he was thinking about me.

Okay, it was a little slutty. Or maybe a lot slutty. Either way, the idea popped into my head, and I just had to act on it or I would've regretted it the rest of my life. It seemed so perfect, like something out of a movie. I knew it would floor him.

Of course, I'm stunned my heart didn't burst out of my chest it was beating so hard as I reached up under my skirt and slid my thong off. I couldn't look him in the eyes. I must've been bright red, but I am so proud of myself for doing it. I felt so strong, so in control.

I almost bounced down the stairs as I made my way to the table. Practically running, not wanting to deal with the fact that my teacher was holding my panties in his hand. The thought alone made me quiver a bit. Not to mention that I was now completely bare under my skirt on the way to dinner with my family.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Mr. Applegate was following. He was still near the top of the stairs, but making his way down. When our eyes met, he parted his lips as if to say something, but then stopped.

I'm sure I was blushing furiously, but I managed a smile. Holding up a finger, signaling me to wait for him, he closed the gap between us as he descended the stair. Turning toward him, I cocked my head as I looked up at him, wondering what he was going to say.

As he came closer, I could tell his eyes had changed. He wasn't flustered. He wasn't nervous. He was... in control. I took a step back, lowered my chin, but shifted my eyes to look up at him. I must have looked like a guilty little girl who'd been caught red-handed.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he took still a step closer, removing any distance between us. I stepped back again, but this time found myself against the wall. He wasn't exactly pressing me into it. He wasn't touching me at al, in fact. But his presence kept me pinned.

He leaned down bringing his mouth to me ear and whispered. "Did you dress yourself tonight hoping to turn me on?"

I couldn't quite speak, the feel of his breath on my neck, the closeness of his body, the scent of his after shave. I nodded and let out a little girl's, "uh huh."

He backed away and looked me in the eyes. "it's working."

I almost melted in desire and disappointment. Desire to have him touch me, disappointment that he didn't. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted his mouth on me. I squeezed my thighs together as I leaned against the wall.But it was for the best, just as he turned away from me, my mother appeared from around the corner.

"There you are," she said, somewhat exasperated. "You're keeping everyone waiting."

"Terribly sorry," he answered lightly. "Miranda was just being a good hostess."

She eyed him suspiciously, glancing to me against the wall. I must've looked guilty, but she wasn't about to accuse me of anything. Like most parents, she'd rather live in happy denial than confront her daughter if at all possible.

She led the way into the dining room. Mr. Applegate followed, and I shuffled after, still trying to regain my footing. I had been so brave in my room, so adult, so ready to take charge. By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, however, all that had gone. I was back to being a sexually charged teenager desperate for someone to explore with, but terrified of it actually happening.

I was lost in my own thoughts and an awareness of my own wetness when we walked into the dining room only to find, along with my parents, my pastor and his wife.

"Pastor John!" I exclaimed, suddenly feeling very exposed and guilty.

"Well, since we were having Mr. Applegate over, I figued we might as well make a night of it," my mother said, "so I called Pastor John and now it's a party."

Smiling politely, Mr. Applegate shook my pastor's hand, and then his wife's, before we all took a seat at the table. I stayed mostly quiet. I was ashamed of how I had behaved in my room, but I was also upset. With my pastor and his wife here, I figured there was no chance of Mr. Applegate continuing to flirt with me.

I don't know why I thought that. Too many eyes at the table, I guess. Parents may choose to remain oblivious, but others... I don't know. It suddenly seemed dangerous to try to push things forward with Mr. Applegate.

Then again, he had said I was turning him on. I shivered to think of his breath on my neck and I squeezed my thighs together under the table, sending a little shudder up my spine.

The Pastor's wife noticed my shiver and commented. "Cold, dear?" she asked.

"I guess a litte maybe," I said, unsure of myself. She and her husband sat across the table with my parents on either end. That left me to sit next to Mr. Applegate.

I glanced at him nervously, and immediately regretted it. It felt too obvious. Did everyone know that I was flirting with my teacher? Could they tell I wasn't wearing panties under my skirt? Oh god, this was such a mistake.

"I'm guessing that this isn't the ideal way to spend an evening for you, Miranda," Pastor John said. "Surrounded by a bunch of old folks like us."

I smiled but was at a loss for words. Pastor John was about the same age as Mr. Applegate, about the same age as my parents. I wasn't about to say, "Actually, my problem is that I want to be alone with Mr. Applegate."

But then there it was. Mr. Applegate put his hand on my knee under the table. It was all I could do not to jump at the touch. It wasn't a simple touch, either, not like at the coffee shop earlier in the day. No, his hand lingered on my knee and he traced his finger tips in circles on the inner part of my thigh.

I unconsciously licked my lips and looked down at my plate, idly running my fork through my food.

"So Pastor John," Mr. Applegate said as he ran his fingertips up the inside of my thigh, "Have you know Miranda and her family long?"

"Well," my pastor said, "I started at the church about ten years ago, so I've known her since she was a little girl."

Mr. Applegate's hand moved higher on my thigh, under my skirt, to the line where the stockings met my bare leg. He never took his eyes off of my Pastor. "It must be a special privilege to be able to offer a guiding hand to help young people like her grow up." I bit my lip as I thought about the hand under my skirt.

"It certainly is," Pastor John answered after taking a forkful of food. "Miranda especially was so precocious, such a little adult. She really needed some firm guidance in order to keep her with..."

"God..." I let out as a whisper, accidentally completing the Pastor's sentence. Really though, Mr. Applegates fingers brushed up against my clean shaven mound and the feeling was electric.

"Yes," Pastor John said, a little confused, "Keeping her with God. She was always one to ask a lot of questions, always one that risked experimenting with the wrong answers."

"Well, a little experimenting is perfectly normal for young women," Mr. Applegate said, and his finger slid down along my slit. Overcome by the feeling, my legs closed tightly, trapping his hand.

"What do you say?" Mr. Applegate turned to my pastor's wife, his hand firmly grasped by my young thighs, "Should young women remain open to experiences that may stretch their comfort zone?"

I bit my lip. If I didn't misunderstand, he was telling me to open my legs for him right at the dinner table so he could finger me while talking to my parents and my pastor. I didn't know what to do. I was almost trembling already. If I let him slide his fingers inside me I might moan, or start grinding against his hand and give myself away.

"Well, staying open is important," my pastor's wife spoke, "you don't want to be closed off to possibilities that might take you somewhere wonderful."

God, without knowing it she was helping Mr. Applegate to violate me at the table, right in front of her. Encouraging me to relax my thighs, which I did, letting them fall open, giving his hand access to me.

I let out a stifled whimper and bit my lower lip as his fingers, now free, pressed into the folds of my wet flesh. I was looking down at my plate, my hands had fallen flat on the table, almost bracing myself to keep my composure.
"Are you okay, Miranda?" my dad asked looking at me over the top of his water glass as he took a sip.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look him in the eye, "Yes Dad," I almost whispered, "I'm fine." The thought flashed through my mind, I'm talking to my dad as my teacher finger fucks me at the dinner table. What kind of girl does this? But even as I thought it, I felt Mr. Applegate's finger slide a little further into me, and I noticed I was rocking my hips in order to feel more friction.

My mother, who was siting closest to me, reached out and took my hand in hers, "Are you sure, dear, you look positively flush."

It was all I could do not to grip her hand tightly for support as Mr. Applegate's finger drove me crazy. I couldn't though, I just couldn't let myself go like that. Not in front of my parents. Not in front of my pastor. Oh but I soooo wanted to.

My voice quivered, "I'm just a little... warm." My pastor's wife gave me an odd look, It was almost like she suspected. Or maybe she knew.
I think Mr. Applegate caught the same look, because he wihdrew his hand from me, making a trail of my wetness as his ran his finger back down the bare flesh of my upper thigh before withdrawing his hand all together. Or maybe he just wanted to let me catch my breath. I was glad for the return to my sense, but I ached for more.

I glanced over at him, something I dared not do while his finger was still inside me. He picked up a piece of bread from his plate with the hand that was just between my legs. After taking a bite he licked his finger, as if cleaning it of stray butter, but I knew. I knew he was tasting me.

"This is truly delicious," he said aloud while glancing to my mother. "I bet Miranda takes after you... in the kitchen, I mean."

My mother blushed at the compliment, not fully understanding its sexual undertones. "I'm sorry to say, Mr Applegate, that Miranda doesn't show much interest in cooking."

"What are you interested in, Miranda?" He asked looking at me with that little smirk that annoyed me and now made me quiver.

Before I could think of something clever to say, my dad said, "Boys."

I shot him a dirty look, as the Pastor and his wife chuckled. I wanted to tell him how small that made me feel, like some middle school girl in puberty. Maybe if he knew his good little girl was getting fingered under his dinner table by a man his age he might see me as the grown woman I am. Maybe. Or maybe it would just prove his point. God, Mr. Applegate was turning me inside out. I was losing control, so I did the only thing I could think of; I put my hand on his thigh under the table.

Immediately though, I felt his strong hand on my wrist pushing my hand away.

"Well," Mr. Applegate said looking sternly at me letting me know that he was in control, and I wasn't going to do anything without his permission. "Often it takes college for kids to find someone to teach them self-control and discipline." He looked over at my dad. "Strangely, I find that its not something young people can learn from their parents."

I shuddered at his words, what he wanted to teach me I was definitely not going to learn from my dad.
Pastor John spoke up, "That's true, I think. My parents taught me values and laid the groundwork, but it wasn't until I met a professor in college who took me under his wing that I really understood what it meant to be a full fledged autonomous adult."

Pastor John prattled on for a while, but his wife kept her eyes firmly fixed on me. She was definitely suspicious of something. For his part, Mr. Applegate carried on in the conversation as if he hadn't just licked his host's daughter's wetness from his finger right in front of them.

Mr. Applegate

I admit to being a little surprised at myself. I went from debating whether I should attend dinner at all to fingering a former student in front of her parents and her pastor. I would not have guessed that would happen when I left my apartment for the evening.

Something happened, however, when she slipped her thong off and placed it in my hand. It was no longer the kind of typical flirtation game that happens when you find a mutual attraction with someone off limits. She had escalated to a point where I needed to decide, was I going to be in charge, or was I going to be some little girl's plaything. I decided when I reached the top of the stairs that I was no plaything.

Of course I hadn't been expecting the Pastor and his wife to be there, but it was fortuitous because it gave me the opportunity to sit next to Miranda, and there was no way I was sitting next to her without touching her.

She had made clear that she was attracted to me, and I wasn't about to let that opportunity pass. Of course, when I touched her stocking clad thigh, I wasn't sure how far I'd go, but sometimes these things take on a life of their own.

Knowing she was wearing no panties and then feeling her thighs spread wide as she slid herself forward a little, opening herself, making herself available for my touch, I was focused on nothing else.

The conversation went on around me, but all I could hear was my own heart pounding as I slid a finger into her soft folds of flesh. When she let out a whimper, drawing the attention of her parents, I knew I had to control myself in order to better control her and the situation.

From there on out it became a game. How much could I torment her without letting her break and give everything away? How much could she take? Could I carry on a conversation with her father while I finger fucked his daughter?

It was thrilling. But then I noticed the pastor's wife staring intently at me. No, not at me, not exactly, at the place my arm disappeared beneath the table with the tell tale angle that said it led right between Miranda's young thighs. She wasn't horrified so much as enamored. Her eyes darted to mine and I smiled at her as I sipped my glass of water, eliciting a blush. She wasn't unattractive in her own right, a woman of about my age with obviously dyed red hair to her shoulders, well dressed, well manicured. And no doubt aroused by what was happening.

When I first noticed her eyes, I debated whether she posed a threat, but soon enough it became clear that she was too overtaken by the situation to say anything. She was too proper and it would be too impolite. So I held her gaze and gave her a wry little smile, letting her know yes, in fact, I was fingering Miranda under the table.

It was then I had the delicious idea to pull my hand up from between Miranda's thighs, and make a display of tasting her. Of course the pastor's wife followed my hand as I drew it first to my plate and then to my mouth. I believe she shuddered when I closed my lips around my finger tip, but I turned to Miranda's mother to draw attention away from her.

Whether Miranda was aware of this interaction or not, I didn't know. She was fighting her own battle for composure, so I suspected she hadn't noticed.

I was debating my next course of action when I felt Miranda's slight hand on my thigh. As much as I wanted her touch, this was clearly a power move on her part, and she needed to learn that she was no longer calling the shots here, so I pushed her hand away, leaving her to her own anticipation and imagination as to what might happen next.

Miranda

After taking his hand away, all of my thoughts were focused on when he might touch me again, wanting him to touch me again. I don't think I've ever ben so turned on. I was electric. Every time I shifted, I could tell how wet I was, I could feel it everytime I squeezed my thighs together, and I could feel the coolness of the air on my bare, wet sex everytime I moved my legs apart.