The Weekly Ritual - Sex Stories

The Weekly Ritual

... snooty inner voice. With your lithe dancer's body and flowing chestnut locks, you put these other unrefined plebeians to shame.

I straighten up and place one hand haughtily on my hip, tossing my hair and narrowing my eyes as I pursed my lips into a judgmental little moue.

The other girls at your school? Positively pedestrian, I sniff disdainfully in my head. Not an ounce of taste or sophistication to be found amongst the hoi polloi at that dreadfully provincial school of yours. But you, dear girl, are destined for greater things.

I catch Mom's eye in the reflection and we both burst out laughing at my over-the-top posturing.

"What in heaven's name are you doing over there, Miss Eva?" Mom asks between giggles.

"Oh nothing, m'lady," I reply lightly with an exaggerated curtsy. "Just entertaining myself while you slave away over there with the brownies."

Mom shakes her head, amused. "Well, feel free to keep me entertained. The adventures of Miss Hoity Toity look positively thrilling."

I notice her eyes flicker down to take in my bare legs and thighs before meeting my gaze again. I feel a subtle thrill rush through me at having her attention on my exposed skin. It makes me suddenly aware of the cool air hitting the bare skin between my legs, and I resist the urge to squeeze my thighs together.

"No sweatshirt today?" she asks casually as she turns around and checks the oven timer. She's referring to the oversized Garfield sweatshirt that I usually wear on ...

... our TV nights.

"Oh um, nah, this sweater is so comfy, I figured why not keep it on," I say, self-consciously smoothing my hands down the soft cashmere again.

Mom nods approvingly. "Looks comfy," she says simply, before turning her attention back to the oven.

"Alrighty, the recipe said thirty-five minutes but the oven runs hot so I'm guessing these brownies gotta be close to done," She bends down, opening the oven door. The blast of warm air fills the kitchen with the intoxicating chocolatey aroma.

As she peers inside, the worn grey fabric of her sweatshirt rides up even further, exposing her bare backside. Her cheeks are pale and smooth against the oversized shirt, barely covered now that she's stretched over. I catch a glimpse of the sides of her hips, the curve of her cheeks peeking out as she reaches into the hot oven.

"Ah splendid, I do believe our treats are ready!" Mom says enthusiastically, the sound echoing slightly inside the oven.

As Mom reaches in to pull the hot tray out, she shifts her feet further apart, spreading her legs a bit to brace herself. Her body stretches forward, causing the oversized sweatshirt to ride up even more.

From my spot at the counter, I suddenly have an unobstructed view between her parted thighs.

I feel my face flush hot as my eyes linger for a split second longer than they should. I avert my gaze quickly, but the image is seared into my mind.

As she straightens up and turns around, the sweatshirt falls back into ...