Dinner Time

Emma watched as Harry's figure disappeared at the doorway, her mind busy trying to comprehend what had just happened. Once again, she had cheated her husband with her daughter's boyfriend. She didn't know which was worse, betraying to her wedding vows, however flayed they were, or violating her only daughter's trust in such a visceral way.

"Damn it, Emma," she murmured to herself. "You were supposed to be stronger than that." After the last visit, she had decided that there would be no repeat. She was supposed to reject his attention, no matter how flattering, how exciting it was. But, it took less than ten minutes of focused attention for her to surrender, only a wall separating them from her daughter as she squirmed under his naked attention. Only after the fact, the magnitude of the risk she undertook hit her. Had Hermione to decided to help them in the kitchen, or just to check them to see the reason for the delay, she would have caught her with her body covered in cream and kisses. Just one look, and the foundations of her family would have come tumbling down. Resolution rose inside Emma once more. She was going to communicate to Harry clearly, that their affair was morally wrong, that they needed to stop before Hermione was hurt.

She walked towards the table, distracted by a wave of the warm air caressing her nether regions thanks to a distinct absence of underwear, wetter than it ever had been in her whole life. The sensation brought a batch of fresh memories back to her mind, weakening her earlier resolution. Just a minute, and she was already reconsidering her stance, doubts being born about her power to power to reject his attention. Now against his presence, intoxicating, exciting. It was everything her marriage wasn't, alive, feeling, burning, not dusty, expired. Not like her marriage, stuck in a sand pit, the affection and passion dried under the patient flow of time, their discussions rarely about anything other than business. It was even worse when it came to sex, infrequent, limp, and boring. Her husband's grip was nothing like Harry's touch, awakening her passion, leaving burning tracks of fire in its wake…

"Fuck it," she murmured, deciding to stop fighting against her desires. Not like resistance worked, not when it took ten minutes for him to destroy her determination to stay away. it was unfair to her daughter, but even that was secondary when to the image of a messy-haired young man, sending her heart into overdrive with barely an effort. She took the tray of food and moved to the living room. She wanted the dinner to start before Harry paid another visit to the kitchen. After all, just because she decided not to stop the affair didn't mean she wanted to maximize the chances of being caught.

It proved prudent when she met Hermione in the corridor, her cheerful face bright. "Hi, mom," she said, a shiny smile adorning her face. Emma felt a stab of guilt. Her daughter was so carefree, blissfully unaware that her mother stabbed her in her back just minutes ago. "You look different, have you changed your clothes?" she continued, dragging Emma's attention back to more important issues.

She wanted to dismiss the question, saying she was dressed the same, but the distinct absence of some pieces made it hard, especially when it was about the chest region. She looked down, only to see her nipples were poking her blouse aggressively, shouting about her lack of bra. "No, I haven't," Emma said, somehow avoiding a stutter of shame. She was lucky that Hermione hadn't realized the difference when she referred was the lack of a bra, and even luckier since she hadn't remembered about her possession of one when she first went to the kitchen.

"Okay," Hermione said with a shrug and picked the tray, leaving Emma free to go back to the kitchen to pick the plates.

Several minutes later, the table was ready. There were three sets of plates on the table, two on the one side, one on the other. However, seating order was a bit different than Emma had expected, with Hermione already sitting on the side with just one plate. Emma felt conflicted about sitting next to Harry, no matter how enjoyable, his presence was sure to muddy her thinking. Still, it was better than making her daughter changing seats. Hermione almost noticed her lack of underwear before, and Emma didn't want to push her luck about it. "Where is Harry?" Emma asked as she sat on the seat diagonal to Hermione, reserving the chair directly across Hermione for Harry.

"He went for a change of clothes, mom," Hermione answered. "He said his pants were uncomfortable."

"I reckon it's rather tight down there," Emma nodded. Only after seeing Hermione's shocked expression, she realized what she had said. She could feel the heat invading her face while she tried to come up with something that wouldn't imply her intimate knowledge about the size of Harry's cock, but she came blank.

Hermione let out a shocked laugh. "Mom," she exclaimed. "Have you been checking my boyfriend's size? You are so bad!"

"What?" Emma said, trying to act shocked by her daughter's words, while in actuality she relaxed quite a bit with Hermione's humorous approach to it instead of finding it scandalous. "It's not like it's hard to notice. Even through that loose trousers he chooses to wear, it's very easy to see, honey."

"So?" Hermione asked, her smile crawling mischievously. "Should I be worried about you stealing my boyfriend?" Emma couldn't help, she froze. It might be a blind joke, but it managed to hit the bull's eye. Emma tried to school her face to show something other than abject panic, but failed. Neither her face, nor her lips listened to her. "Oh my god," Hermione said, her laugh ringing crystal. "Mom, you should have seen your face. Don't worry, it was a just joke." Emma nodded, the tension draining from her face. She reached for the glass for a sip of water, and Hermione chose that exact moment to continue. "We can always share."

Just like that, she ejected the water in shock, coughing to expel the water. To make things worse, she heard a familiar voice from behind. "What's that funny, girls."

Hermione giggled. "Harry, mommy is being a meanie. She decided she wouldn't share you. She wants to keep you all to herself." Emma tried her best to calm herself, with dubious success.

"I'm sure you misunderstood, Hermione," Harry answered as he took his seat. "Emma is a smart, gentle, and caring woman. I'm sure she knows sharing is caring." Then he leaned towards her face, their lips separated just by an inch. "Right, Emma?"

Emma knew she should have pulled back, laughed, got angry… Anything other than looking his forest green eyes, hypnotized, her lips parting automatically. Thankfully, she managed to gather herself before their lips connected. She nodded, and Harry smiled. A lopsided, crooked smile enough to send her heartbeat uncontrollably high. "Perfect," he said, and pulled back, leaving her chest heaving like she just ran a marathon. He sat next to her, and the dinner started.

She hoped that with the start of the dinner, things would calm down. Which was true at first, with the attention of every occupant more on the food than the discussion. Or so she thought. After a few minutes of relative silence, a soft gasp escaped Harry's mouth. A sound Emma normally would disregard, if very similar ones hadn't echoed in her ears just half an hour ago, allowing her to recognize it instantly. Her head snapped towards him in shock, and their eyes met, his green ones filled with pleasure.

He smiled at her, then dipped his head down just a moment. Emma followed the trail and her gaze ended up in his waist level. At first, she thought everything was normal, and Harry's motion was just a tick. Then, she noticed an important detail. The table linen covering his lap was moving suspiciously. Emma's gaze jumped up to meet his gaze once more, a knowing smile on his lips. With the corner of her eyes, Emma saw one of his hands sneaking under the table, followed by a movement of the table linen. Her eyes fell down once more, even though she had a pretty solid idea of what she would find there.

However expecting something and actually seeing it was very different, Emma realized when her gaze fell upon her daughter's feet, comfortably wrapped around her boyfriend's cock, caressing it with a consistent rhythm. She couldn't help it, a surprised gasp escaped her mouth. Thankfully, her daughter was too occupied to notice it, though Harry's widening smile showed that her daughter was the only one unaware of her reaction.

Emma shifted her gaze back to her plate like it was burnt, waiting for the dinner to end, trying to ignore her out of control heartbeat. But Harry had no intention of leaving her alone, Emma realized as she received his attention in the form of a familiar hand landing on her thigh. Not expecting something like that to happen, Emma wasn't able to react as Harry's hand slid under her skirt, coursing through a path to her nether lips, wet enough to soak the bottom of her skirt. She felt his fingers glancing her nether lips, sending a fresh set of shivers across her body. She should have pushed his hand away instantly, she realized, but as often in life, what should have happened and what had happened wasn't the same.

She bit her lips in an effort to prevent her voice from escaping, and Hermione chose exact moment to direct a question to her. "Mom, the stew tastes amazing, but it's a bit different than usual. Did you change something in the recipe?"

Emma felt a liberal dash of fear mixing with the pleasure that was continuously assaulting her senses. She tried to remember the answer, hoping that it would keep her questions limited, but she came up blank. She tried to remember what she put in the stew, but the flashes of Harry, covering her with whipped cream, then removing said cream with great fervor dominated her mind. "Secret," she murmured. She hoped that Hermione would cut her questioning short, but didn't really expect it. She knew how obsessive her daughter could be in face of an unanswered question, no matter how innocuous it was.

Much to Emma's disappointment, her daughter acted just like she expected. "Please, mom. I'm curious," she said. There was a saving grace in the whole twisted situation though. Hermione's gaze was constantly straying to Harry's face instead of hers, otherwise, she might have noticed Emma's abnormal expressions. Emma bit her lips in an attempt to imprison yet another moan, but only managing to convert it to a whimper instead, while she tried to remember what she put in the stew differently.

She was unable to remember the different ingredients she had used despite her best efforts, most of her neural activity slaved by Harry's fingers, ravaging her insides. "It's saffron," Emma murmured, saying the first spice that came to her mind.

"Huh, really?" Hermione answered, turning her attention to Emma's face for a moment. "I wouldn't have guessed it. It tastes really different." Emma let out a relaxed sigh when Hermione turned her attention back to her plate. Soon, Hermione's feet sped up. Harry let out a gasp, and he started spraying his seed, covering the bottom of Hermione's naked feet with his cum. Their daring was so shocking, and a bit of insulting. Emma wondered just how blind Hermione assumed her to be to not to notice what was going on next to her.

"Mom, I need to visit the restroom for a moment," Hermione said, putting her hands on the table, about to stand up. Emma felt fear grabbing her, but thankfully, Harry pulled his hand away at the last second, showing he was just as aware of the risk of being caught. Emma watched Hermione's walk as she disappeared at the stairs, her hips swaying excessively, her feet stained with the pearly liquid.

But Emma didn't have the time to pander about Hermione's carelessness when she felt a hand tugging her hair, pushing her mouth nearer to Harry's crotch. "How about you clean your daughter's mess, Emma?" he said. Emma tried to answer, only to found his cock in her mouth, stained with his most recent release due to her daughter's courtesy. Emma tried to pull away, but her attempts were easily aborted by the hand pressing tight on her back. She gave a resigned sigh, and started bobbing her head. Sooner she completed her task, sooner she could get away, she thought, trying to convince her that it was the only reason. But even if she didn't want to admit, even to herself, there was another reason for her action. The thought of getting one over her daughter, who somehow believed that she could give a footjob to her boyfriend while Emma was unawares, was strangely attractive, heightening the pleasure she struggled under.

Distracted by her self-introspection, Emma caught unawares when Harry suddenly pulled her up and pushed her on the table. Before she could understand the change of position, he already pushed her skirt up and slid his cock into her wet tunnel. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room once, destroying the haze Emma was in. "What are you doing!" she asked amongst her shock.

"I shouldn't need to explain to you what is it? Right, Emma?" Harry said, even as he picked up the pace, the repeating sound getting even louder.

"But Hermione could be back any moment," Emma said in a voice barely above a whisper in a vain attempt to stay unnoticed. A ridiculous attempt considering the noise filling the room, but she was hardly in a state to care, with the rising pleasure invading her mind once more.

"Think it as an incentive to be quick," he said, pushing his shaft even deeper inside her. Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Harry's next sentence cut her. "And more you speak, longer it would take for me to cum." That had managed to stop her, leaving her without a word of protest. With her objections stopped, there was nothing for her to focus on other than fear of being caught. Other than the glorious sense of pleasure spreading to her lower half with every beat, of course.

Emma felt utterly exposed in a way not limited to her half-naked state. It all depended on her daughter. All it took for her to complete her cleaning early to catch her boyfriend mounting her mother on the dinner table, with the awareness of the fact that they were comfortable doing it while she was away for a few short minutes. But even the realization of how much it would hurt her daughter didn't reduce her enjoyment a bit. Even worse, the risk of being caught enhanced every touch, every slam, in a way that left fiery tracts aftermath.

Lost in the haze of passion once more, Emma's world was reduced into flashes of pleasure once more, this time, tinted with a healthy amount of fear. Beset by it, she fell under the assault of the pleasure, trying to endure flashes of pleasure while trying to keep her voice low, the next wave assaulting her before the trembles of the previous one subsided. The climax she awaited came simultaneously with another surprise, his thick seed spurting inside her, aided by her tightening walls. Harry pulled back, and Emma did the only thing she could, she crumpled on her chair, fighting to keep her consciousness.

"I better go keep Hermione busy while you gather yourself," Harry whispered into her ear. Emma nodded, unable to remember why her daughter needed to be kept away, but not willing to spend the remainder of her energy to ask. She nodded, and returned her fight against the unconsciousness while Harry's steps echoed in her ears as he walked away.