overwhelming engulfment, hot and wet and impossibly deep. My vision blurred. She's swallowing me whole. Her head began to move, a slow, rhythmic bobbing that was pure, undiluted ecstasy. Her tongue swirled around the head on every upward stroke, her lips created a perfect, tight seal on the way down.
One of her hands cupped my balls, her fingers applying a gentle, rolling pressure. The other hand stroked what her mouth couldn't reach, matching the pace perfectly. The sounds were obscene—soft, wet sucking noises, her quiet, greedy breaths, the frantic pounding of my own heart in my ears. The contrast was unbearable: the polite clink of cutlery above, the mundane conversation about the market and the weather, and the raw, primal worship happening below.
I was losing control. My hips twitched, wanting to thrust deeper into that divine heat. A low moan finally escaped me, which I quickly tried to mask with a cough.
"You sure you're okay?" Sarah asked again, her hand coming to rest on my arm.
"Positive," I gasped, patting her hand with a trembling one of my own. "Something went down the wrong pipe."
Under the table, Lena deep-throated me again, and my words died in my throat. Her nose was buried in the coarse hair at my base. She held me there for a long, breathtaking second before pulling back, gasping for air softly. I felt her smile against my wet skin. She was a virtuoso, and my body was her instrument. She was playing me, mastering me, and god, I was begging for the crescendo.
Her pace quickened. The suction intensified. I could feel the coiling tension in my gut, the inevitable, explosive release building with every slick slide of her lips. I was a live wire, every nerve ending firing. The world narrowed to the dark space under that table, to the feeling of her mouth, to the terrifying, thrilling risk of being caught.
I was so close. So dangerously close. My fingers tangled in her hair, not to guide her, but to hold on for dear life. Her answering moan vibrated through my very soul. She wanted this. She wanted me to lose it right here, right now, with her daughter's hand on my arm.
The tablecloth twitched. I looked down, and in the sliver of space between the table and the floor, I saw a single, knowing eye looking back at me.
And then, from above, Sarah's voice, sweet and innocent and utterly unaware, cut through the haze of my pleasure. "Mom? Did you find the fork? What are you doing down there?"