Double than usual

Lana strips in the kitchen.

She does not go to the bedroom first. She pulls her shirt off in front of him, drops it on the tile, unhooks her bra and lets her tits fall. Shorts next. Panties last, peeled down her legs, kicked aside. Naked, she turns and walks. Slow. Hips rolling. She looks over her shoulder at the bedroom door, at him still by the sink, and her mouth curves.

“Coming?” she says.

He waits a few seconds. Long enough for her to get on the bed. Then he follows.

She is on her back. Legs spread. Cunt already shining, open for him, one hand resting on her thigh like she is presenting it. She watches him stand at the foot of the bed and take his clothes off. Shirt. Sweats. His cock comes out hard, thick, the head dark. She stares at it. He wraps a fist around the shaft and gives it two slow strokes, and her breath catches.

Then he dives.

Mouth on her cunt like it is the only food left in the house. No teasing lick. A full, hungry press of his tongue through her folds, then on her clit, sucking, groaning into her. Lana’s back arches. Her hand finds his hair.

“Fuck. Yes. Eat it. Eat your wife’s cunt. God, your mouth. Don’t you dare come up. Lick me. I’m dripping. Taste it. That’s all for you.”

He eats her for a long time. Tongue fucking into her, then flat on her clit, then sucking until her thighs shake. Two fingers push in and curl. The wet sound is filthy. He does not rush. He drinks her. He holds her open with his free hand and buries his face, nose on her, mouth relentless.

Lana moans through it, thanking him, dirty and wrecked.

“Thank you. Thank you, husband. Right there. Suck my clit. Fuck me with your fingers. I can hear how wet I am. You’re starving for it. Eat me. Make me cum. I want to soak your face. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The first orgasm hits hard. She cries out, cunt pulsing on his tongue, a gush he licks up without lifting his head. He keeps going. Through the sensitivity. Fingers pumping. Mouth sealed on her clit until she is babbling.

“Again? You’re going to make me cum again? Greedy. I love it. Use your tongue. Deeper. I’m your meal. Finish me. Thank you. Fuck. Thank you. I’m close. Don’t you pull off. Make me scream.”

He does. The second orgasm is longer, messier. She squirts against his mouth, thighs clamping, voice breaking on his name and on a string of filth about his tongue and his fingers and how she is going to leak on the sheet. He drinks that too. He stays until she is twitching and pushing at his head, spent, oversensitive, panting.

Then he climbs onto the bed beside her.

His cock pokes her hip. Hot. Hard. Wet at the tip. Lana’s hand finds it without looking. She wraps her fingers around the shaft and strokes, slow, feeling the thickness she just watched him stroke at the foot of the bed.

She turns her head. Eyes on his. Voice hoarse and filthy and almost sweet.

“Do you remember your rules, husband?”