Hidden Passenger (possession) (Patreon)

Hidden Passenger

"Okay, dude," Danny said, leaning against the kitchen counter with that mischievous grin he always wore when he had a wild idea. "I have an idea. You and Sakura are going to that fancy restaurant tonight, right? It's a date. Don't worry, I won't interfere. But I've always wanted to go there. The food is incredible—five-star, right? Here's what I'll do: I'll secretly body-hop into her body, but I'll just stick in the back of her mind. She won't notice a thing. I won't have any control. But I'll be able to see and taste all the awesome food through her. You two go back home, I'll hop out. I promise.“

I hesitated, but Danny was my roommate, and his weird psychic tricks had never caused real trouble before. Sakura was my girlfriend—stunning, with long, straight black hair, innocent doe eyes, and a body that turned heads everywhere. Tonight she looked incredible: a tight gray turtleneck sweater hugging her full, heavy breasts, a short plaid skirt swaying against her thighs, sheer black stockings, and cute heels. We were already dressed up for La Belle Étoile, the exclusive spot with private booths. "Fine," I said. "But you swear you won't mess with anything?"

"Scout's honor," he laughed.

The restaurant was everything we'd heard: dim crystal chandeliers, velvet curtains around our secluded booth, soft jazz in the air. Sakura slid in across from me, smiling shyly as the waiter poured champagne. The appetizers arrived—foie gras with truffle, oysters on ice—and her eyes lit up. She moaned softly as she tasted the first bite, her tongue lingering on the spoon. "Oh my god," she whispered, cheeks flushing. "This is... incredible." She savored every morsel, closing her eyes, lips parting with little gasps that made my pulse quicken. I chalked it up to the food being that good.

The main course was wagyu with red wine reduction. Sakura ate slowly, deliberately, her breathing growing deeper. Halfway through, she shifted in her seat, thighs pressing together under the long tablecloth. Her cheeks were pink now, eyes glassy. "It's so hot in here," she murmured, fanning herself. I noticed her nipples hardening against the soft wool of her sweater, two stiff peaks straining the fabric.

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching for her hand.

She bit her lip, nodding too quickly. "Y-yeah. Just... the wine, maybe." But her free hand disappeared under the table, smoothing her skirt. Her foot brushed my ankle—accidental, I thought—then again, deliberate. She froze, eyes widening. "Sorry," she whispered, but didn't pull away.

The dessert arrived: chocolate soufflé with gold leaf. Sakura took a bite and let out a soft, needy whimper. Her stockinged foot found my leg again, sliding up my calf. This time she didn't apologize. Her toes traced higher, hesitating at my knee. "I... I don't know what's wrong with me," she breathed, voice trembling. "I feel so... warm. Down there." Her gaze dropped to her lap, then flicked to mine, shy and desperate. "I'm getting so wet. It's embarrassing."

I swallowed hard, cock already stirring. "Sakura...“

Her heel slipped off under the table. Bare toes in sheer nylon grazed my inner thigh. She paused, breathing ragged, clearly fighting herself. "We shouldn't... not here," she whispered, even as her foot inched higher, brushing the growing bulge in my pants. "Someone might see..." But her eyes begged me not to stop her.

I stayed still, heart pounding. Slowly, hesitantly, she pressed her sole against my hardening length, rubbing in small circles. The nylon was silky, warm from her skin. She gasped softly, biting her knuckle to stay quiet. "It feels so good," she murmured, voice barely audible. "I can't stop... I'm aching so much.“

Her foot worked me expertly—slow strokes along my shaft through the fabric, toes curling around the head when I throbbed. She squirmed in her seat, thighs clenched, her own arousal soaking through. Little shivers ran through her each time I pulsed against her arch. "I'm dripping," she confessed in a tiny, ashamed whisper. "Just from touching you like this.“

The waiter passed by; she froze, foot still pressed firmly against me, face flushed crimson. When he left, she resumed, faster now, desperate. Her breathing hitched, sweater rising and falling with each pant. I gripped the table edge, trying not to groan as she brought me closer, closer—until I came hard in my pants, hot pulses against her stockinged sole.

She whimpered softly, foot lingering, smearing the warmth. Then, slowly, she withdrew, slipping her heel back on with trembling fingers. Her eyes met mine—shy, sated, confused. "I... I've never done anything like that," she whispered.

"Take me home?"