Tongue finds Harry cunt trying to appease her ex husband

The ex-wife had lost the battle for his cock, but she could still fight for his attention. Her pride was in tatters, but her competitive spirit, the very thing that had driven her to build her own empire of pleasure, refused to die. If she couldn't be the one to worship him, she would worship the one who did. It was a twisted, desperate act of penance and strategy.

With a soft, choked sob, the ex-wife crawled forward. She didn't touch Richard. Her target was Harry. She lifted the hem of Harry's simple black dress, her hands trembling as they found the soft skin of Harry's thighs.

Harry paused, looking down at the silver-blonde head bowing before her. She smiled, a slow, triumphant curve of her lips. She gave Richard a quick, knowing glance before widening her stance, granting the ex-wife access.

The first touch of the woman's tongue was hesitant, a butterfly's wings against Harry's clit. But then, spurred by Richard's sharp intake of breath, the ex-wife's movements became more fervent. She licked and sucked with a desperate hunger, her actions a silent apology, a plea for forgiveness. She was offering her own submission in the hopes of regaining a sliver of her ex-husband's regard.

The scene was a raw, unchecked desire and emotional warfare. Richard stood, a monument to his own ego, being worshipped by the present while the past paid homage to the present, all for his benefit. Harry was the nexus, the fulcrum upon which their shared history and fractured future balanced.

She ground her hips against the ex-wife's face, her movements in sync with the rhythm of her mouth on Richard. The three of them moved together, a perverse trinity of lust and revenge. The room around them had fallen silent, all eyes on the unfolding drama.

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