Franc 2: A New Game

by Serena Jones

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, FemaleDom, Light Bond, Interracial, Black Female, White Male, First, Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Bobby thought Franc was a shy little nerd. Then he saw her all pretty in pink...

They look like rubber boxers with a sock in the front — like those novelty elephant ones you see around Halloween. Except these are solid pink. Shiny and pink.

She's on fuckin' drugs if she thinks there is any chance in hell I'm wearin' this.

Anyway, they're too small — stretch is one thing but come on. The label said large, but labels have lied before.

My cell rings and I check the number. As expected, it's Franc.

"You're fuckin' nuts." I say.

"Bobby." The 'bee' part has this kind of lilt that's usually cute but today it's whiney.

"No freakin' way." She's not gonna win this time. "Besides it won't fit."

"Yes it will. It stretches."

"Not that much."

"Yes. That much."

"Aw, come on! I'm not wearing this thing in front of my mother!"

"No! Bobby!" I can almost see her blushing over that one. "Under your pants. Geez!"

"Christ! You know what I mean. I'm not going to be comfortable knowing my mother and these things are in the same building never mind the same room together."

"Bobby." She whines again. "Please?"

"No way, Franc. Not gonna happen."

She's silent for a minute. Then she says, "Wear it or I won't come tonight."

"Aw, come on!" I'm trying not to shout but I know that tone of hers. She hangs up. Yeah, it's rude but the conversation's done and she does that. She's done talking anyway; either I give in and wear the damn things or I go to dinner with my parents alone. She's supposed to be meeting them today. Since it's my damn birthday, I really don't want to argue with her.

I pick up the boxers again. I could see if they were black; that might be kinda kinky. I pick up the phone and dial her back.

"Why pink?"

She's silent for a minute and I can imagine her frowning. Then hesitantly she says, "It's part of a set."

"A set?" I can't even guess what you would wear with this. "Where's the rest of it?"

She's silent again, longer this time. "It's a surprise."

I don't know why I'm fighting — ever since this relationship started, she gets her way every damn time. I used to have a spine. Now it's like that damn TV show of hers — resistance is fucking futile. "Promise me this is gonna be worth my time."

"It will."

I sigh, "What are you wearing tonight?" I ask, mostly to sooth my bruised ego. I can't believe I'm gonna put these things on.

She's quiet again — which is a good sign. It usually means she's wearing something sexy. "It's a surprise." She finally squeaks.

"Give me one detail." I prod. "Shoes."

"Well," she pauses, "I bought new boots."

"High heel?"

"Four inch. But they're kind of thick not the spiky kind."

I love her taste in boots. I feel a pleasant throb in my groin. "OK, you win. I'll wear 'em."

"Really?" the lilt is back.

"Really. I'll see you at 7."

Franc's right — they do stretch. Like a second skin. I have a little trouble getting my dick into the sock because the joint at the base seems even tighter than the rest but once I realize that there is a separate ball sack, I get them on ok. They feel kind of like an all over condom, which annoys me a little — until I put on my pants. Then it's this kind of weird tight squeezing but at the same time like I'm not wearing anything at all. I could see how this could become a whole lot of fun real fast. I just hope I don't get a erection during dinner; unlike my usual brief, these things do nothing to diminish that embarrassing tent.

My folks are pretty cool — very open, but not in a creepy way. They stay out of my life in general but Mom likes having birthday dinners as a family. Four times a year, she says, you can suffer a meal. So, rather than argue the point, my brother and I just show up and let Dad pay for dinner. This year, Rich brought his latest boyfriend Bradford and their "roommate" Cindy — which is only a little suspicious because Rich's apartment is a one-bed room basement. She's a hot little blonde slut in a micro mini and spiked heels. She's sleeping on the couch and I'm a virgin. I'm looking up her skirt because I'm a complete dick, so sue me.

Franc's late which is a shock because she's never been late before but that gives Mom plenty of time to update me on current family news and grill me on what Franc is like. "She's nice, Mom. Ok? She's not like my usual girls. She's cute. A little shy, but really damn smart. She's just, I don't know, nice." I leave out the part about her being a card carrying sci-fi geek — nobody needs to know about that.

"What on earth is she doing with you?" Mom asks.

Rich and crew laugh out right and even Dad has to crack a smile. I start to get indignant except I can't answer the question either. I could tell them it's because I can make her scream five nights out of seven but that's not the sort of thing you share with your parents. I get up and look out the door again. This time, to my surprise, see Franc's car is in the lot. I turn around and check the restaurant lobby again; Franc's nowhere to be seen. Maybe she's in the bathroom, I think and turn to find out and stop cold. Behind me is one of those visions you only see in real expensive porn flicks.

It's Franc and she's outdone herself. For starters, she ditched her glasses and I can see her bright brown eyes for once. Her solid black hair is out and curly and draping over bare milk chocolate colored shoulders. Her impressive rack is encased in a top that laces up like a corset to pushes them up but covers all that enticing cleavage with sleeves from just off her shoulders to her wrists. Her skintight pants look painted on with no VPL but severe camel toe. Then I see the boots — thigh high, lace up, thick high heels. Everything is pink. Everything is latex. The last time she wore something like this was the first night I banged her; she wore white spandex then. This is so much hotter that for a moment I honestly can't breathe.

My dick's suddenly so hard it hurts. So this is Franc's surprise. Judging by the cheesy grin and the fourteen shades of red she turns, I guess I gave her the response she wanted. I notice that my mouth is open so I try to say something to tell her how I feel, just how incredible she looks. "Ho-ly shit!" Is what comes out.

She bites her lip and blushes even more, "Yeah?"

I nod stupidly, "Oh yeah. Oh hell yeah." Then a brain cell turns on and a cold shower washes clean through me, "Are you crazy? These are my parents! I just finished telling them what a nice girl you are. Now you show up looking like the whore of Babylon."

Her face quiets — but to my shock it doesn't fall, "I think they'll understand. Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Uh, ok." She's usually only that confident when she playing a game — when she knows all the rules and how to play her advantage. I confess, when Franc's in her element she's hot. I caught her at her office once when she was the middle of an investigation. She had a couple FBI agents crying for their mommies by the time she was done with them. She's hell on wheels when she knows what she doing — she goes all shy when she's out of her element. It makes me a little nervous here and now though, 'cause it's like I'm a pawn and she's in charge. Then I remember she made me wear pink underwear — she is in charge.

I get more nervous when my mother greets her like an old friend and doesn't bat an eye at the latex outfit. Rich can't resist a comment and Bradford and I both hit him. When we get to a table by chance or design, I'm sitting across from Franc so I can look but not touch — which is probably a good thing because I wouldn't keep my hands off her if I could reach her. I notice the restaurant seats us in a seclude space in the back. No doubt, they knew about the latex before I did as well.

Appetizers arrive and Franc and Dad get into some boring conversation that threatens to put the rest of us to sleep. I'm still hard. I'm beginning to wonder if there's more to these briefs than I realized. Then it hits me and I nearly choke on my salad — the damn things must have a built-in cock ring. I'm actually glad that I'm wearing rubber underwear because I just about lost it at the table. When Franc got this ballsy, I don't know but it's definitely hot. If her outfit fits like my briefs do, she must feel like she walking around nude. This has got to be far and away the gutsiest thing she's ever done and she did it for me. But she's sitting there acting like she's dressed for work, chatting mundanely with my family and sweatin' my nuts with barely a glance. Her tits bounce every time she moves and she moves a lot tonight. If there are any other interesting events at dinner, I miss them because I'm too busy thinking about wearing Franc out when we get back to her place. I'm gonna to make her scream, loudly, then screw her until she's begging me to stop. She has no idea how hard, how deep, how long, how...

Rich's hand smacking the shit out of the back of my head wakes me, "Bob? Hello?"

"Dick!" I smack him back, "What?"

"Open it already."

In front of me is a box. Ok, I'm a complete jackass; I've ignored everyone the whole meal. I open the box. It's a nice pair of golf gloves and four passes to Dad's golf club. Which, I gotta admit, is pretty cool. "Bradford, you play?"

"I little. I most ride in the cart and drink beer."

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