Under table fun

You drift beneath the heavy oak table, the air chilling as you condense your essence. You manifest your hands—not as a visual, but as a firm, warm physical presence.

As Chad begins a story about the structural load-bearing capacity of his new project, you reach out. Your large, spectral palms settle on Cherie’s bare knees. She stiffens, her fork suddenly reversing halfway to her mouth, a small clink echoing as it hits the rim of her plate.

You don't pull away. You begin to slide your hands upward, your thumbs tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The heat of your touch is a direct contrast to the cool air of the room.

Cherie’s breath hitches. She lets out a soft, involuntary "Oh..." that she tries to mask as a cough. Her thighs tremble under your touch, but instead of closing them, she subtly shifts her legs apart, inviting the pressure. Her face is a mask of frantic, crimson heat.

"Everything alright, Cherie?" Chad asks, looking up from his plate. He looks at her curiously. Clearly the subliminals havn't taken hold yet.

"Fine, dear," Cherie squeaks, her hand tightening around her wine glass so hard her knuckles turn white. "Just... the rosemary. It’s a bit spicy tonight."

Alexis leans forward, a wolfish grin spreading across her face. She’s watching the way Cherie is squirming in her seat, her eyes glazed with a mix of terror and mounting ecstasy. "Is it, sister? You look like you're really... enjoying your dinner. You’re practically glowing."

Tyler looks up from his food, catching the shift in the room's energy. He looks at his mother and a knowing smirk touches his lips. He knows you are at work.

"Yeah, Mom," Tyler adds, his voice steady and bold. "You seem really focused on your meal. Is the 'Creativity' software helping you find new... flavors?"

Chloe and Kenzie exchange a look. Kenzie, sensitive to the "wink" from earlier, feels the static of your presence in the room. She looks at the shadows in the corner, her hand instinctively clutching her napkin.

Chad pauses, his brow furrowing, his natural suspicion rising as he takes in his wife's behavior. He looks at the way Cherie is arching her back, her eyes fluttering shut as your fingers move higher, brushing against the silk of her panties.

"You're acting strange, Cherie," Chad grunts, his voice dropping an octave. "Are you sure you're not coming down with something? Maybe you should head up early."