Masterful

Ruby’s mouth is masterful. She takes the thick length of you with a confidence that feels practised and hungry at the same time, lips sealed tight, tongue working the underside in long, deliberate strokes while she sinks deeper on every pass. There is no hesitation, no awkward adjustment. She knows exactly how to angle her head so the head of your cock slides into her throat without resistance, holds herself there until her eyes water, then pulls back with a slow wet drag that leaves the shaft glistening.

Between those deep strokes she keeps talking, the words coming out rough and muffled around the cock she refuses to release for long.

“He never looks at me the way you are looking at me right now,” she murmurs, then sinks down again, taking almost all of you before rising with a soft gasp. “Everything at home is so careful. So polite. We talk about whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher and then we go to sleep. I cannot remember the last time he was hard for me without me having to ask. I lie there and wonder if he even notices I am still a woman.”

The solidarity hits you harder than the wet heat of her mouth. Six months of Natasha’s cold shoulder, the same quiet distance, the same feeling of becoming invisible in your own bed. Hearing it mirrored in Ruby’s voice while she works your cock with such focused hunger only tightens the coil at the base of your spine. Your cock has never felt harder. The full 8.5 inches throbs heavily against her tongue, veins standing out, the head flushed and leaking steadily onto her taste buds every time she pauses to speak.

She notices. A small, almost proud sound vibrates around you as she takes you deeper still, nose brushing your stomach, throat fluttering as she accepts the thickness she has wanted since the beginning. When she pulls off this time it is only far enough to keep the head resting on her tongue while she continues the quiet, raw confession.

“I used to think something was wrong with me. That I was asking for too much. Then I started watching you at work. The way you carried that frustration around the floor. The way you still wanted someone even when it was obvious you were not getting it at home. It made me feel less alone. It made me wet in the middle of staff meetings just thinking about what it would be like to be the one who finally took care of you.”

Her hand twists at the base in perfect time with the bob of her head, spit running down over her knuckles and onto your balls. She loses herself in the dual rhythm of sucking and speaking, the issues with her husband pouring out in broken, earnest fragments while her mouth keeps delivering the most skilled, devoted attention your cock has ever received. Every confession about the polite emptiness at home makes the solidarity burn hotter. Every skilled stroke of her tongue makes the thickness of you pulse harder against the back of her throat.

You feel swollen beyond anything you can remember, the shaft so rigid it almost aches, the head hypersensitive where it keeps brushing the soft palate of her mouth. Ruby seems to sense it. She doubles down, taking you to the root and staying there, swallowing around the intrusion, eyes locked on yours with that same mix of innocence and pure hunger while the quiet house holds the wet sounds of her masterful work and the low, continuous stream of her marital frustrations. The combination is relentless. The solidarity, the skill, the open need in her voice, all of it keeps your cock at a peak hardness that feels almost unsustainable, and still she shows no intention of stopping.