The Zenin family dinner was a carefully orchestrated tableau of polite smiles and strained conversation, a suffocating display of familial harmony that masked the simmering tensions beneath the surface. You sat beside Toji, the polished mahogany table a stark contrast to the heat blooming between your legs. His hand rested on your thigh, a casual caress that was anything but casual. It was a slow, deliberate exploration, a silent declaration of possession that sent shivers of both apprehension and arousal down your spine. The polite murmur of conversation faded into a distant hum, the only sound the rhythmic brushing of his fingers against your skin.

The pressure intensified, a slow, deliberate escalation that mirrored the growing turmoil within you. His touch was light, almost feather-like, yet it held an undeniable power, a subtle dominance that both thrilled and terrified you. You fought the involuntary shiver that wracked your body, the delicate dance between resistance and surrender playing out in the silent space between you. Each subtle shift of his hand sent a fresh wave of heat through you, a rising tide of sensation that threatened to overwhelm you.

Then, with a breathtaking audacity, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your pants. The sudden invasion of his touch was a shock, a jolt of unexpected pleasure that sent a gasp of surprise – quickly stifled – to your lips. His fingers found the sensitive skin of your clitoris, circling it gently, teasingly. The sensation was exquisite, a forbidden delight that clashed violently with the revulsion you felt at his blatant disregard for your boundaries. Your body responded despite your will, a traitorous quiver betraying the conflict raging within you. The rhythmic caress, slow and deliberate, intensified the pleasure, a cruel paradox of violation and arousal. The polite chatter of the family dinner faded completely, replaced by the pounding of your heart and the raw, visceral sensation of his touch. The world narrowed, focusing solely on the exquisite torture of his hand on your most intimate part, a stark contrast to the carefully constructed façade of the Zenin family around you.