I raise a sceptical eyebrow as her hand travels still further, tracing her fingers over the arrow of my hips, teasing my abdomen, just out of reach. I feel my cock jump just slightly, her touch arousing me without much effort.My eyes close, rolling back as her hand eventually trails beneath the sheets, over the length of my steadily engorging cock. She chuckles as I groan, my hips lifting towards her hand as her fingers wrap around my length, moving gently like butterflies along the shaft. Infuriatingly light and infinitely arousing. I open my eyes again to find her watching my cock grow in her hand with such rapt attention, her mouth open just slightly, her eyes darkening as she leans forward. I wait with baited breath, struggling not to move as I feel her breath whisper across the length of me, a bead of precum already forming on the tip.She looks back at me, almost seemingly nervous again before turning back and closing her eyes, her lips enveloping the very tip of me in exquisite. It wasn’t until I got to the top of the driveway that I noticed the dim light coming through a crack in the curtains. It had to be my dad. He didn’t often stay up this late, but realising he was up made me remember a comment he’d made to mom over breakfast about the West Indies (where they came from) playing cricket against Australia. Mom didn’t much care, but if it involved men playing with balls my dad would watch it. Well, like, sports balls anyway, not the kind of balls I liked. His enthusiasm for sports could be pretty entertaining and super cute, but now it was just an enormous problem.See, my dad is strict. Really, really fucking strict. Even now, at 18, I wasn’t allowed out late, I wasn’t allowed to be friends with guys, almost everything I wore had to be modest - although that wasn’t a big issue for me because I’d gone to a fancy school with modest uniforms, and outside of that I was pretty self-conscious - I was 5’4”, but my limbs and proportions and lack of tits or ass.
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