She came to my door with the sound of her husband's car engine still idling outside our building; the air in our hall was still heavy with the melodrama of his florid cologne when I opened the door to his wife's brazen invitation to adultery. Her sari whispered against her caramel skin as she unwrapped her body like a gift, and I could still taste her little cuckold's cologne in my nose when I plunged my tongue into his young bride and drank honey from between her thighs.
I knew the taste of her intimacy before I knew her name. It lingered on my tongue like the memory of a delicious sin.
I teased her tender clit in its fleshy hood, my tongue dancing on it and around the soft, warm folds between her legs. A moan came from a place that she'd never shown to her slender husband. I tasted every inch of her flesh that first time and she shuddered and clutched at me when I drew my tongue across her labia with long, soft, slow insistence.
My tongue lapped at her swollen clit with cruelly varied speed and intensity, my lewd attentions calibrated to the raw gasps of her pleasure.
I slid my thumb into her vagina and she drew in a breath ragged with lust.