My family was in the furniture business. Twice a year, we’d attend the big furniture convention (yep, there’s such a thing) in San Francisco. When I say it was the family business, I mean the whole family. Not just my parents, but my grandmother, all my uncles, my dad’s cousins, even my mom’s brother: everyone had their own store. Combined we had some pretty bad-ass purchasing power.
My parents would always take us, and my kid brother and I grew up with somewhat of a hands-on entrepreneurial education.
My favorite part about these conventions was the candy. Little bowls of M&Ms or Hershey’s Kisses everywhere. Then, around lunch time, they’d bring out all the catering. We’d talk about going to the Sandberg showroom for sandwiches or over to Powell’s for pasta.
I started going when I was around 11 or 12; and continued to go well into high school. I went from kid to awkward teenager to jailbait vixen in six-month bursts at a time.
Dinners were always pretty high-end. I mean, this was basically a tax-deductible family vacation, so we’d go out to nice restaurants in the city. Often, the furniture companies would invite the whole family out as a thank you for a rather large purchase.
I went to work in the family business after high school. This is after my first attempt at college, so I’d already had my first official BSDM experience and my first public scene.
In other words, my eyes were well adjusted to perversion.
One evening, one of the companies my family had done business with took us to a very fancy dinner. This was one of those $100 a head dinners after one takes wine, appetizers, dessert, and cappuccinos into account.
One of the younger sales reps, probably in his late 20s or early 30s sat across from me at a narrow table. He was pretty hot.
I was flirting with him, clearly. This is a thing that has not changed about me. If I like you, you are well fucking aware of it.
Some time during the main course, I felt his foot touch mine. I looked up to see if it was an accident and his face told me it was no accident.
His shoe had come off and he started caressing his socked toes up my calf, then my knee. With a nudge, he parted my legs under the table.
Meanwhile, my mother is sitting beside me. My father next to her. My grandmother is there, my aunts and uncles are there, and the owner of the company hosting our dinner was there.
I slumped down in my seat a little and gave him a look. I was simultaneously submitting and daring him to continue.
He took the dare.
His leg traveled up my thigh and under my skirt. Knowing me, I probably bit my lip the second his toes made contact with my pussy through what would soon be soaked panties.
He fiddled around a bit until he found the right spot, and then just started rubbing.
Meanwhile, I’m slowly eating my dinner, trying not to make a sound or draw attention to the fact that I was being quite willingly violated under the table at what amounts to a family dinner.
This went on for several minutes, until the point where it became too much. I had to either call chicken or come sitting next to my mother at a fancy restaurant.
I caved, and pulled my seat away and announced I was going to the ladies room.
His smirk of satisfaction made me blush.
I came hard in the bathroom, more than once, before I felt capable of returning back to the table to start on dessert and coffee.
When it was time to go, everybody stood up and hugged each other. Latin family, we’re a touchy-feely group.
He came in to shake my hand, and leaned over.
“That was fun,” he said. “You’re a good girl.”
I was subspaced out the whole taxi-ride back to the hotel.
Erotic fiction writer. Phi (pronounced “fee”) came into kink at early age and renewed her connection with the lifestyle in 2014 after a decade-long hiatus. A somewhat popular and undeniably avid blogger on fetlife.com under the name phi-is-me, she lives in the suburb of a suburb in southern California with two cats and six pillows.