No, you have a relaxed chat at dinner

After catching your breath for a few minutes, you rouse yourself and come to the amusing image of your girlfriend attempting to take a selfie of sorts. Only, she's clearly trying to take one of her ass so she's contorted herself like a pretzel trying to get a good angle of her rear.

"What are you doing?" you ask, holding back a chuckle. "Auditioning for the circus?"

"What I'm trying to do," she replies, twisting herself further and letting out a feminine grunt, "is to get a good picture of your handiwork."

"My handiwork?"

"You know," Carrie says, gesturing to her upturned ass, "your handiwork." You take a closer look at her gaping asshole, swollen from its recent use with your surprisingly thick ejaculate slowly dripping out of it and down her slit. In your eyes, it looked like you were a little rough with her and you hope that your girlfriend would tell you if you went too far, but in your heart you know that as long as you were happy, she'd be happy.

"Here, let me." Carrie hands you her phone, and returns her hands to her ass, spreading her cheeks and giving you an uncovered look at both her pussy and asshole. She's not looking towards you, and with her hair gathered around her shoulder, you get a good look at the beautiful expanse of her toned athletic figure. Feeling that her anonymity is adequately protected, you snap a couple of photos, because while you know that Carrie wouldn't mind a nude photo of hers sitting in her cloud, you figured it was a good idea to be safe. You hand her phone back to her and ask, "Is that going to be your new phone background?"

"Nope. This image's destination is the inbox of Natalie, and its purpose is to remind her of her imminent future: you taking her anal virginity."

"Well," you say as you head to the closet to grab a small hand towel to clean up the two of you after the messiness of sex, "I look forward to your devious machinations to convince her to surrender her ass to me. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have time this week. Both James and Mary want us to schedule a dinner, as well as Rebecca and my best friend Allen. I'm not sure we'll have time to hang out with either of them if we're focused on bringing Helen into our bed."

"Particularly if we have to go shopping this week," Carrie says, taking the towel from you to wipe up your fluids. You shoot her a questioning look, and she elaborates for you. "I have a strong feeling that you will be invited to meet my family this weekend. And since my family can't have a simple weekend where they just meet the man that I love, we will all be attending a black tie charity gala this Saturday night. And since I've seen your... let's call it lackluster collection of formalwear, we'll need to get you a decent tuxedo. And not rented either. I know it's a big inconvenience but I think that it will be crucial to making a-"

"Well, first off, I cannot wait to meet your family," you interject, walking up to Carrie and hugging her close to your body in an effort to calm her down. "And I trust your instincts completely about the state of my wardrobe. Whatever you think is our best course of action, I'll follow your guidance."

Carrie melts into your arms and you embrace for a few seconds before she murmurs to you, "I don't know how you can be so calm. My parents aren't exactly normal. And they have certain expectations on the kind of man that I should be with and unfortunately, you're a few tax brackets shy of that expectation."

"Well, we'll figure out how to meet those high expectations together. For now though, I'm starving and I'm sure you're hungry too."

"I did smell something nice when I entered with Chelsea. What did you make tonight?"

"Your favorite: chicken cacciatore. And I even sprung for the nice chicken from that upscale grocery store." Carrie coos at that and gives you her trademark smile that you'd walk over coals for.

"Well, dish some out for us while I finish cleaning up."

You comply, though you do side track to put on sweatpants and a t-shirt with the logo of your alma mater on the front. As you depart your bedroom and enter the open space that serves as a family and dining room you do spy the heavy box that Carrie brought in along with Chelsea. You wonder what is inside of it, but figure that it's probably just extra clothes that Carrie wanted to leave at your apartment. You do resolve to ask her about it over dinner.

Entering the kitchen, you immediately head to the stove to check on the cacciatore. You dip a finger into it, and to your untrained tongue it definitely tastes good enough to eat. You decide to dish out a serving to each of you, and feeling frisky on a Sunday night, decide pour two glasses of red wine as well. Ready for your meal, you sit down at your small dining room table, awaiting your loving girlfriend.

Carrie doesn't make you wait long, as she enters the kitchen with the grace and elegance of royalty but the casual wear of a college coed. She's wearing a grey boyfriend-style nightshirt that it's probably a size or two too short, as it both barely reaches past her ass as well as being a little tight around her bountiful bust.

"Hey honey," you greet, getting out of your seat to pull out her chair in a move that your father once called 'the barest modicum of respect for a women.' Carrie, in return, mock curtsies you before sitting down, causing her nightshirt to hike up and give you a glimpse of her purple pantied-covered crotch.

"So," you say, sitting down and taking a sip of your wine, "how was visiting your family this weekend?"

"Stressful, as always," Carrie says, sighing. "Everything from chastising me for not doing enough with my life to insinuations that I'm moving too fast with you."

"Really? Running a yoga studio at the age of 25 not impressive enough for them?" Carrie jerks her head up towards you in surprise, and you helpfully supply, "I ran into Kelsey earlier today when I was shopping for the expensive chicken. Imagine my surprise when she mentions that you own and operate Yoga Heaven, a yoga studio catering to women of all ages that I thought you just worked at." Carrie blushes in embarrassment at you exposing one of her secrets but you rush to assuage her concerns. "It's fine, I don't mind or blame you for not telling me."

"I know you don't. And to explain how I came to running my own yoga studio, it goes back to when I finished my undergraduate degree and didn't know how I wanted to spend my life. Resisting my father's attempts to give me a position in his company, I decided to get a placeholder job while I figured out what I wanted to do. Now of course I could have followed Natalie's example, gotten a job at some peer's charity project and worked until I found a husband while living off of my trust fund. But I didn't want that. So I got an entry level yoga instructor job at Yoga Heaven, and after a year when the owner wanted to sell and move across the country, I figured it was an opportunity to get my parents off my back and show them that I'm doing real work by running a business."

To be honest, none of Carrie's speech truly changes your perception of her. You had always known that she was fiercely independent, so you aren't surprised that she took a job without the approval of her parents. There was one concern in your mind, however.

"So... do you enjoy owning and operating your own yoga studio?," you ask.

Carrie shrugs her shoulders in response, "It's alright I guess. It was a lot more enjoyable at first, when I utilized connections with the towns socialites and trophy wives to drive a lot of traffic for the business. But now? I'm just maintaining its success until I can figure out what I'm doing next."

"Well, that settles it," you say, nodding to yourself. "We are going to find you a job that you love."

"What?" Carrie bursts out. "I don't think I need that. Plus, not everyone is going to find a job they love. I'm just glad that I don't have a job that I hate. Or, a boss that I hate. No, I'm fine with being my own boss and running a well-oiled machine."

"Listen," you reply. "I'm not saying that you have to quit running Yoga Heaven right away. Or that you should ever sell it at all. I just want..." you pause, trying to figure out the best way to articulate yourself. "I just think you have a job that you enjoy half as much as you seem to enjoy setting up threesomes for the two of us. Or even a quarter as much."

"Okay, you may have a point. And I do like spending the days sitting in my office setting up stratagems for seducing all of the women in our life."

"Obviously, you don't have to do anything, and I was trying to suggest something. Because I figured one of the advantages to being wealthy was that you had time to figure out what you want to every day for the rest of your life."

"Honey, I promise that I'll think about it. But for the near future we have to focus on what's truly important: Getting Helen, dear not-so-innocent wife of Ted, bouncing on your dick."

"Well, if that's not worth toasting I'm not sure what is," you say, smiling and raising your glass to Carrie. She gives you a rueful grin and clinks her glass to yours and the two of you continue eating the adequately prepared chicken cacciatore.

The rest of dinner flows naturally, with Carrie incessantly asking for more details about your sexual encounter with Natalie. You try to downplay your impact on Natalie, but Carrie insists that she is in the beginning stages of being your very own personal cockslut. The meal serves to remind you that you and Carrie aren't just compatible sexually, but in all manners of your lives.

After finishing dinner and washing up, you walk hand in hand with Carrie back to your bedroom. While doing so, you again notice the heavy cardboard box that Carrie lugged in with Chelsea.

"You need help carrying your box into our bedroom? Looks like you grabbed a lot of clothes for when you sleep over here."

"Oh," Carrie manages to eke out through some giggles. "Those aren't my clothes. That is a secret surprise that I'm sure you are going to love when its revealed. I could tell, or we could wait and have it be a surprise. Do you trust me on this?"

"Always."