UNDER HIS SPELL_(1)

Under His Spell
by Pan

When I felt the hand of my daughter’s boyfriend on my ass, I didn’t say anything.

How would you have reacted? We’d been asking Georgia to invite her boyfriend around for weeks now—we didn’t know anything about him, except that the two of them seemed to be getting along. My husband and I had literally no idea what to expect—and yet, Ash still managed to surprise us.

He was eighteen, the same age as Georgia, but he held himself with the confidence of a much older man. He walked with…well, with a swagger. He was wearing ripped jeans and a black jacket, made of faux leather, which he refused to take off all through dinner.

Georgia couldn’t keep her eyes off him—she was clearly besotted…and, honestly, I could see why. He was exactly the kind of “bad boy” I would have been keen on when I was her age. He never broke eye-contact—in fact, he spent most of the meal staring straight at me. I’m well into my forties now, but I have to admit, I felt myself blushing slightly in response.

It’s just so rare to get that kind of direct attention from a young man, at my age…and especially such direct attention. I don’t think my husband noticed anything odd in either Ash’s behavior or mine, but Georgia surely must have noticed the inordinate amount of attention her suitor was paying me.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did I. And later, when Ash came into the kitchen and put his hand directly on my ass, I didn’t say anything then, either. We were alone—I was washing up, and my husband had offered to show Georgia and Ash the latest modifications he was making to his car.

I have no idea how Ash managed to sneak away, and I didn’t ask. I just stood there, doing the dishes, while Ash’s hand firmly grasped my rear end. Neither of us said a word—I suppose a part of me was just hoping if I didn’t acknowledge it, he would stop.

But he didn’t. In fact, when it was obvious that I wasn’t going to offer up even a token resistance, he took it a step further. His hand started caressing me, and he stood directly behind me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck—he was tall, taller than my husband—and his other hand came around and started groping my left breast.

I didn’t say anything. But I did shiver—a shiver of fear, I suppose, or possibly arousal. I didn’t know what this young man was doing, or how I felt about it…but my body was responding. I could feel myself getting wet, as the teenager dating my daughter openly groped me in the kitchen.

He used his feet to spread my legs, gently pushing first one leg and then the other. The dishwater was starting to get cold, but I continued the illusion of housework, even though all I was doing was polishing one wet dish over and over again. Ash moved his hand from my ass to my thigh—I was wearing a floral dress that went down past my knees, and as his left hand found my hard nipple and started tweaking it, his other hand slowly started inching my dress higher and higher, until my inner thigh was within reach.

My breathing was heavy as his hand made contact with my skin for the first time since we’d shaken hands at the door earlier that evening. I couldn’t help but wonder: even then, had he been wondering what it would be like to touch me? Had he known how easy I would make it for him, how I was somehow unable to resist his advances?

What we were doing was wrong for so many reasons, but I put the final dish on the drying board, and moved my hands to the edge of the sink, gripping tightly. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I wanted to be able to support myself when it did.

His mouth moved from near my neck to my ear, so close that I couldn’t hear anything but his slow, controlled breathing. I tried to slow my own breath down as well—I’d involuntarily begun panting as his hand slowly moved higher on my thigh, so close that I’m sure he could feel the heat of my pussy.

I’d had no reason to suspect that anyone would see my underthings that night (my husband and I only ever make love on Saturday nights, when Georgia is at netball) and so the pair I was wearing were large, and hardly flattering.