Kitchen counter Stories

“What are your intentions for my daughter?” he asks, voice desert dry. I’m closer to his age than hers. I glance at her for reassurance, but she only offers a sly smile, grinding deeper into the cushion, marking his furniture. I take a big gulp of the beer she offered me from his fridge, hoping it might cool the panic. “Sir,” I begin. She spreads her legs slightly. Her skirt rides higher. The wet spot on her panties beari...