Over Thinking

Lilly Bell, 2024. Her head inches past the line. Isiah Maxwell’s cock already hard, heavy in her grip. She glances back at her husband—sees the hunger—and opens wide. No more thinking. Her tongue traces the underside first, slow and deliberate, tasting every inch before she sinks down. The girth stretches her lips, the weight pushing against the back of her throat. She gags once, twice, but doesn’t pull off. Saliva runs down his balls. Isiah pulls her around without asking. He wants her cunt on his mouth. They settle into the 69, her knees planted on either side of his face, her trimmed bush brushing his lips. He licks up once, then buries in, tongue working fast while his hands spread her cheeks. Lilly moans around his cock, the sound wet and muffled, spit dripping from her chin onto his stomach. She rocks her hips, grinding against his mouth, every circle of her pelvis dragging her swollen clit over his tongue. He’s long—too long for a polite first try. She fights it anyway, throat clenching, eyes watering. Every gag pushes more spit out, coating his shaft until her hand slips easily up and down the rest she can’t swallow. Her husband stays silent. Watches. She feels his stare when Isiah’s tongue flicks quick over her clit again and again until her thighs shake. Lilly keeps sucking, keeps choking herself deeper, until Isiah’s hips jerk and hot cum floods her throat. She swallows without pause, nose pressed to his skin, her own orgasm rolling through her a second later—quiet, shaking, her cunt pulsing against Isiah’s open mouth.