Imagines (Beyonce x y/n)

Just Aunty BB' 6

I grinned, sitting next to her, and subtly slipped my hand onto her inner thigh, my finger finding the entrance to her intimacy. Her eyes widened, a tiny gasp catching in her throat. My touch sent a jolt through her, a private current in the midst of public conversation. I could feel her stiffen for a split second, then relax into the surprising, forbidden contact. A slow, knowing smile played on my lips as I felt her warmth, her bare skin. The knowledge that she was sitting there, exposed only to me, intensified the thrill.

She quickly recovered, her practiced composure snapping back into place, though a faint flush crept up her neck. Her gaze flickered to mine, a mixture of surprise, indignation, and a hint of something else – a mischievous glint that mirrored my own. She subtly shifted, trying to dislodge my hand, but I held firm, pressing a fraction deeper, just enough to let her know I wasn't backing down.

"What's so funny over there?" Kelly called out, oblivious, stirring her coffee. "You two look like you're plotting something."

Beyoncé's laugh, a little too bright, echoed across the porch. "Oh, nothing, just admiring the morning view, aren't we, Y/N?" She squeezed my knee under the table, a silent warning wrapped in a public affection. Her eyes, however, held a different message, a challenge in their depths. 'You are so going to pay for this later.'

Daniel, having finally caught up and looking significantly less green, plopped down heavily in a chair opposite us. He took a large gulp of orange juice, then grimaced, still looking a bit ill. He glanced at me, then at Beyoncé, then back at me, a silent, disgusted question in his eyes. He knew. And the thought of him knowing, adding another layer to our secret, only made me grin wider. This was going to be a fun day. The red thong was still safely tucked in my pocket, a promise of continued mischief.

The banter at the table continued, a comfortable lull settling over the group as Kelly and Solange debated the merits of a deep-sea fishing trip versus a more relaxing spa day. Beyoncé, still radiating a subtle heat from my earlier touch, contributed to the conversation with practiced ease, her voice smooth and even. But I could feel the tension in her thigh under my hand, a silent flutter of nerves and anticipation. I subtly moved my thumb, tracing the delicate fabric of her sundress where it covered her bare flesh. Her eyes, which had been fixed on Solange, flickered to mine, a silent warning.

"You know, I did find something interesting back in the cabin," I started, a mischievous glint in my eye, pulling my hand away from her thigh, but not before giving it a final, lingering squeeze. I caught Daniel's disgusted grimace from across the table; he knew I was up to something, but he wasn't sure what.

Beyoncé's brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing her face, quickly replaced by a dawning comprehension as she watched me. Kelly and Solange were still engrossed in their debate over fishing bait, their voices a distant hum. This was my window.

"Oops, dropped something," I muttered, bending low, pretending to search the floor beside my chair. Instead of retrieving anything, I simply kept going, sliding smoothly under the heavy wooden table, my movements surprisingly fluid and quiet. Daniel's eyes widened, tracking my descent, a look of pure horror cementing on his face. He opened his mouth, but I shot him a quick, warning glare that silently dared him to speak.

Under the table, the world became a private, intimate space. The sun-drenched porch faded into a soft, dappled light filtered through the wood. Beyoncé, knowing exactly what I was doing, had subtly shifted in her seat, legs apart just enough to grant me access. Her sundress, light and airy, bunched slightly, revealing the smooth, warm expanse of her inner thighs. The air was heavy with her scent, now mingled with the faint aroma of the breakfast we'd just finished.

I raised my head, nestling it between her thighs, inhaling deeply. Her breath hitched, a faint gasp escaping her lips, lost in the general murmur of conversation above. I heard Kelly laugh at something Solange said. Beyoncé flinched slightly, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of her seat, forcing herself to maintain her composure.

My tongue traced the soft skin, feeling the delicate pulse beneath. I heard her small, muffled moan as I gently parted her, finding the warm, wet entrance. The taste of her, sweet and intoxicating, filled my senses. I worked slowly at first, savoring the moment, teasing her, feeling her hips begin to rock almost imperceptibly, a desperate, silent plea. I could feel the tremor running through her.

Then, I intensified my ministrations, my tongue and lips working with practiced expertise, listening to her ragged breathing, the tiny, suppressed whimpers that only I could hear. Her hand dropped to her lap, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling gently, urging me on. The muffled sounds became more frequent, tiny gasps and sighs, expertly disguised as coughs or shifts in her seat.

Just as I felt her begin to stiffen, her body tensing for release, I remembered the thong. I reached into my pocket, pulling out the wisp of red lace. The irony, the audacity, of returning it to her now, in this moment, under the table, with her family mere feet away, was almost too much to bear.

With one hand, I continued my pleasuring, and with the other, I gently slid the delicate fabric up her leg, over her calf, past her knee, until it rested just above her inner thigh. Her hips bucked against my mouth, a final, intense shudder rippling through her. The soft, choked cry she let out was quickly swallowed by a sudden, loud laugh from Kelly above us, completely oblivious.

I licked her clean, savoring the last lingering taste, then gently pulled back, sliding the panty up her leg to its rightful place. I planted a soft, triumphant peck over the now-clothed lace, feeling the warmth of her.

"Morning, everyone," Jay rumbled, his voice a little gruff. "Looks like I missed breakfast. Everything okay out here?"

I leaned casually against the table, slowly licked the last faint sweetness from my index finger, eyes never leaving Beyoncé's. A soft hum of satisfaction vibrated deep in my throat, just audible enough for her to hear. My smirk was a private message, a victory dance played out in plain sight.

Beyoncé, meanwhile, had gone rigid. Her face was a masterclass in controlled composure, but her eyes, wide and still shimmering with the afterglow of her forbidden pleasure, flickered wildly between Y/N and her husband. Her hand, which had been tangled in Y/N's hair moments ago, was now clenched tightly in her lap, pressing into the freshly laundered red thong. She could feel the lingering heat between her thighs, the faint stickiness, the phantom sensation of Y/N's tongue. The audacity of him, still savoring her so openly, sent a fresh wave of heat through her, a mix of mortification and a thrilling, dangerous arousal. She wanted to slap him, and kiss him, all at once.

Daniel, who had been watching the entire clandestine operation from across the table with growing horror, let out a choked sound, a mixture of a gag and a strangled sob. He slammed his orange juice glass back onto the table, splashing some liquid. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost, or perhaps, something far worse – an intimate moment he could never unsee. His eyes, wide with sheer disgust, darted from Y/N's smug face to the flushed, unreadable expression on his aunt's face, then to the oblivious Jay-Z. He knew. Oh, he absolutely knew

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