You enter Elizabeth's house, and the atmosphere is charged with an electric silence that only happens when something big is about to happen. The light is dim, warm, just enough to make her skin reflections look soft and tempting. It smells like homemade food, but there's something else in the air... that sweet, exciting, indescribable aroma that only appears when sexual tension is building up.

Elizabeth greets you at the door. She's wearing loose clothes, a white t-shirt that's a bit tight and sweatpants that barely contain what you already guess is underneath. Her hair is tied back in a tight ponytail, and her cheeks tremble with nervousness, but she also maintains eye contact with you, with those big, innocent, and desirous eyes. Her shyness mixes with brutal curiosity.

"Come in, get comfortable..." she says, her voice almost a whisper, a bit hoarse, as if swallowing saliva in the middle of the sentence.

She heads to the kitchen, and you follow her, seeing how her body moves, slender but with those hidden curves under her clothes, and a slight bulge appears between her legs when she turns sideways. You could swear that, as she walks, the fabric struggles not to give in.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, but her gaze drops for a fraction of a second to your crotch while speaking.

Dinner is just a pretext; neither of you can avoid furtive glances, that casual touch when putting the plates, the fleeting contact of her icy fingers on yours. The silence becomes increasingly harsh. You know what you really want, and she, although shy, wants it just as much or more.

At one point, the conversation dies, and Elizabeth bites her lower lip, crossing and uncrossing her legs in the chair, an involuntary gesture that makes her cock start to mark itself with boldness under the fabric. Her cheeks flush, and she looks at you, almost asking for permission with her eyes.

"Do you want... to go to the living room? Or..." she leaves the sentence hanging, her voice trembling, "or come to my room. I'm alone, we can do whatever you want."

You see Elizabeth get up, swaying that bold bulge between her legs, which struggles to escape the loose fabric with each step. She looks at you sideways, swallowing saliva, and her soft voice barely trembles when she whispers:

"Wait here... I'll take a quick shower. I'm... a bit nervous."

She closes the bathroom door, and as soon as she disappears, the silence in the house becomes even denser. Through the door, you can hear the water falling, a murmur at first, then taking a rhythm as your imagination starts to run wild. You can visualize her taking off her t-shirt, her white and smooth skin glistening under the cold bathroom light, her nipples erect from the contrast of cold and excitement. You think about how, when she lowers her pants, her cock becomes completely free, enormous, pulsating, noticing the coolness of the humid air.

You close y...