As the tension in the room became unbearable, my friend’s dad finally made his move. His hand, trembling slightly, rested on my thigh, slowly inching upward. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as his fingers grazed the hem of my short skirt. His touch was electric, sending shivers down my spine. I bit my lip, trying to stifle a moan.
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my neck. His hand slid further up my thigh, gently parting my legs. I could feel his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of my panties, and my breath hitched. I was getting wetter by the second, my body responding eagerly to his touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire.
His other hand moved to my chest, his fingers tracing the outline of my small, perky breasts. At 19, my body was still firm and youthful. My breasts were a modest 32B, with small, pink nipples that were now hard and begging for attention. He gently cupped one breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple through the thin fabric of my top.
“Can I?” he asked, his eyes pleading for permission.
I nodded, unable to find my voice. Slowly, he pulled my top down, exposing my breasts. He stared at them for a moment, his eyes filled with lust and admiration. Then, he leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. A gasp escaped my lips as a wave of pleasure washed over me. His tongue flicked over my nipple, and I could feel the wetness between my legs…
