Photo Album

The leg under the table had become a persistent pressure. Jason’s knee pressed against my thigh, a steady, insistent claim that made it impossible to focus on Carol’s story about the florist. I took another sip of wine, the tannins sharp on my tongue, and tried to shift away. He followed.

His hand dropped below the tablecloth, landing on my knee. His fingers were warm, calloused, and they didn’t stop at my knee. They slid inward, tracing the seam of my jeans, pressing into the damp heat that had gathered there since Richard’s hand had squeezed my ass on the stairs.

I coughed, covering a gasp. Mark turned. “You okay?”

“Went down the wrong pipe.” My voice came out thin.

Jason’s fingers found the button of my jeans. He worked it open one-handed, a deft, practiced motion that sent a jolt through my stomach. The zipper lowered with a faint metallic whisper, drowned by Mark’s mother’s laughter. His hand slipped inside, past the waistband of my thong, and his middle finger found my slick folds.

I gripped the edge of the table. The china rattled.

“Emma?” Mark’s brow furrowed.

“Just— excited about the wedding.” The lie tasted like copper.

Jason’s finger circled my clit, slow and deliberate, while he maintained a neutral expression, his eyes fixed on some point across the room. My hips betrayed me, rocking into his hand. I was soaked. His finger slid inside me, knuckle-deep, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

He worked me under the table, his thumb pressing against my clit, his finger curling in a come-hither motion that made my vision blur. I clenched around him, my body screaming for release, but he withdrew just as I teetered on the edge.

He brought his hand to his mouth, licking my wetness off his finger. “Delicious,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.

I reached for my wine glass. My hand shook. The glass tipped, a cascade of red spreading across my jeans, dark and wet against the denim.

“Oh no—” I stood, the chair scraping against the floor. “I’m so sorry. Let me clean this up.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mark’s mother waved a dismissive hand. “Use the bathroom upstairs. There’s a towel under the sink.”

I fled.

The bathroom was small, floral-scented. I stripped off my jeans, the damp fabric clinging to my thighs. My thong was ruined, soaked through. I pulled on the skirt I wore yesterday—gray wool, pleated. It fit snug around my waist, swishing around my thighs. No panties. I couldn’t bear to put the damp ones back on, and there were no spares.

I stuffed the jeans into a plastic bag from under the sink and took a breath. The lip of the skirt brushed my bare thighs, a constant reminder of my state.

When I returned to the hallway, the living room was filling. The TV glowed—some romantic comedy Mark’s mother had picked. Carol was settling onto the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap. Mark was already sprawled on the loveseat, patting the cushion beside him.

Richard appeared at my elbow. His voice was low, smooth. “Emma, I have a special wedding surprise I’d like to show you. It won’t take long.”

I glanced at Mark. He was distracted, laughing at something Jason said. Richard’s hand touched the small of my back, guiding me toward the stairs.

“A surprise?” My voice came out uncertain.

“You’ll like it. Come.”

I followed him up, my bare thighs brushing together under the skirt. The study door clicked shut behind us. The room was dim, lit only by a desk lamp. The desk faced the door—a large mahogany slab, with a high-backed leather chair behind it. The bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and framed photos.

Richard moved to the desk, opening a drawer. He pulled out a small velvet box, its hinges worn. “These were my mother’s diamond earrings. I want you to have them as your ‘something borrowed.’”

He opened the box. Two diamonds caught the lamplight, brilliant and old-fashioned, set in gold. They were beautiful. My breath caught.

“They’re stunning,” I whispered.

“They’d look perfect on you.” He set the box aside. “I also thought you might enjoy seeing Mark’s childhood photo album. He was a chubby little thing.”

He pulled a thick album from the shelf and placed it on the desk. Then he sat in the leather chair, leaning back, his legs spread. He patted his thigh.

“Come sit on my lap. Easier to see the pictures.”

I hesitated. The air in the room felt thick, charged. But my feet moved before my mind caught up. I crossed to him, turned, and lowered myself onto his lap. The skirt bunched under me, and I felt the heat of his thighs through the fabric. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.

He opened the album. The first page showed a toddler with cake on his face—Mark, unmistakably. “He was three here. His first birthday party.”

I tried to focus on the photo, but Richard’s lips were already at my neck, brushing the sensitive skin below my ear. His free hand slid up my side, cupping my breast through the blouse. His thumb found my nipple through the lace of my bra, and I gasped.

“Richard—” I started, but the word died in my throat.

“Shh,” he murmured against my ear. “Look at the photos. We don’t want to miss any.”

His hand left my breast, dropping to my thigh. The skirt rode up as his fingers found the hem, sliding under, finding bare skin. He made a low sound of approval.

“No panties? Naughty girl.”

“I—they were wet—”

“I know.” His fingers were at my entrance, slick with my own arousal. He circled, teasing, then pushed two fingers inside me, deep and sudden. My hips bucked, and I gripped the edge of the desk.

He turned a page with his free hand, his fingers still buried in me. “He was five here. First day of school.”

I couldn’t answer. His thumb pressed my clit, a tight, rhythmic pressure that made my toes curl. I was close again, so close—

“Unzip me,” he said, his voice a low command. “Take out my cock.”

My hand trembled as I stood up and reached down, finding his zipper. The metal teeth parted, and I reached inside, pulling out his erection. It was thick, heavy, warm in my palm. The head was slick with pre-cum, and I smeared it across the shaft, stroking him once, twice.

He groaned against my neck. “Do it.”

I held skirt up around my waist, baring me to the air, and moved over him. His cock pressed against my folds, hot and insistent. I hovered, the tip just touching my entrance, and hesitated. In two days, this man would become my father-in-law. His wife and my fiance were downstairs waiting for me.

I didn’t move fast enough. His hands grabbed my shoulders, and he pulled me down, impaling me in one brutal, glorious thrust. I cried out, a stifled sound, my nails digging into the armrest. He was larger than I’d expected, stretching me, filling every inch of space inside.

He held me there, letting me adjust. Then he turned another page. “Look. He was seven. His first fishing trip.”

I looked. The photo showed a scrawny boy holding a trout, grinning at the camera. But I felt only the fullness inside me, the slow, deliberate pulse of Richard’s hips as he began to move. He pushed me upward, almost completely off of him, then pulled me back down, my weight forcing him as deep as possible. I put my feet on the floor and starting bouncing up and down on his incredible cock, finding a rhythm that matched the pretense of flipping pages.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured. “Just looking at the album.”

His hips rolled, and I stifled a moan, my eyes fixed on the photos. He turned another page. Another. Each thrust drove me higher, closer to the edge. The desk hid everything below my waist. Anyone entering would see only a bride-to-be bonding with her future father-in-law over old memories.

I exploded. The chair creaked. I clamped my hand over my mouth, my orgasm crashing through me, a silent, shuddering wave.

The door handle turned.

I froze. Richard didn’t. He couldn't thrust, so he started grinding, stirring my insides like a whirlpool in a deep sea, pulling me under with a force that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Mark poked his head in. “Hey, you two. Movie’s starting.”

The room held its breath. Richard’s hand rested on the album, his other arm around my waist, his cock buried inside me. I managed a smile, my voice steady by some miracle. “Sorry. Your dad was showing me baby pictures.”

Mark grinned, stepping closer. I gripped the edge of the desk, feeling Richard’s shallow movements inside me. “Look at that little dork,” Mark said, pointing at a photo of himself with a bowl cut. “I can’t believe you’re still marrying me after seeing that.”

“I love that dork.” My voice cracked on the last word as Richard hit a spot that made my vision flicker.

My eyes widened as I felt his shaft expand and throb inside me. Apparently, this situation turned him on as much as it did me, and he lost control. With a low growl, he released inside me with hot, thick pulses. I clenched around him as tight as I could.

Mark looked up from the album at his father.

Without missing a beat, Richard grabbed his chest and said, "Heartburn."

“Come on," Mark said. "Everyone's waiting. You can look at embarrassing pictures of me after."

Richard stilled. His hand smoothed my skirt back down, covering the evidence.

“You should go,” he said, his voice calm, satisfied. “Don’t want to miss the movie.”

I stood on shaky legs. The skirt fell into place, hiding the mess between my thighs. I walked around the desk, my legs unsteady, my body still humming. Mark was watching me with clueless adoration. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close.

“Everything okay?”

“Perfect.” The word was a whisper. I let him lead me to the living room, Richard’s cum still warm inside me, a secret pressed deep into my core.

I sank onto the couch beside Mark, the movie already playing. My hand found his, and I squeezed, a gesture that should have felt loving. Instead, it felt like a mask slipping into place.

The screen flickered. I stared at it without seeing.

My heart hammered with a cocktail of shame and exhilaration. I had surrendered to something I couldn’t name, a hunger that kept demanding more. The weight of Richard’s seed between my thighs was a brand, a mark of complicity.

And God help me, I wanted more.