13-08-2026, 09:27 PM
Chapter 9 – Hungry Mouths
Meera lay spread across the heavy wooden dining table, completely naked.
Her thick thighs were dbangd over his shoulders, open and already trembling.
The cool wood pressed against her hot back.
Maaran sat between her legs and buried his face in her.
The first long stroke of his tongue was flat and heavy, dragging slowly from the soaked entrance all the way up through her folds to the swollen clit.
He felt the heat of her against his mouth, the soft wet give of her flesh.
He did it again, slower, pressing harder, letting his tongue sink into every fold.
She was dripping. Thick, sweet fluid coated him immediately tongue, lips, chin.
He groaned into her, low and hungry. The vibration made her thighs jerk.
He settled in and began to feed.
Long, greedy sweeps.
The wet sound of his tongue dragging through her was loud in the quiet room a thick, filthy shluck each time he licked from bottom to top.
He circled her clit with the flat of his tongue, then pointed it and flicked rapidly, the soft wet flick-flick-flick sharp and relentless.
When he sealed his lips around the swollen bud and sucked, the sound turned deeper, wetter a strong, rhythmic suck… suck… suck that made her cry out.
“Maaran… ahhh… fuck—”
Her fingers twisted hard in his hair.
He only pressed closer.
His nose crushed against her clit while his tongue pushed deep inside her, thick and strong, fucking her with it in slow, deliberate thrusts.
He could feel her inner walls flutter against his tongue.
Every time he withdrew, a fresh rush of her wetness followed, coating his chin and dripping down onto the table.
He licked it up without breaking rhythm.
The heat of her pussy was intense against his face.
Her scent filled him.
He sucked her clit back into his mouth and lashed it with the tip of his tongue while his hands gripped her fleshy thighs and forced them wider, pinning her completely open.
The wet noises grew filthier loud slurping, the soft obscene gluck of his tongue thrusting in and out, the wet smack of his lips against her soaked flesh.
“Eat me… eat your wife’s wet pussy… don’t stop—”
She was grinding against his mouth now, hips rolling, smearing her juices across his face.
He growled and gave her more.
He alternated between deep tongue-fucking and hard, focused suction on her clit, never letting her settle.
Every time her breathing hitched he changed the rhythm, keeping her right on the edge.
Her legs began to shake violently around his head.
“I’m close… Maaran… I’m so close… eat me harder—”
He did.
He clamped his mouth over her and sucked with ruthless intensity, tongue working in fast, hard strokes against her clit while two of his fingers slid inside to stroke the swollen spot on her front wall.
The wet sounds became almost continuous a thick, messy symphony of sucking, licking, and her helpless moaning.
When she came, it hit her like a wave.
She screamed his name.
Her back arched clean off the table.
Her pussy clenched hard and then gushed, flooding his tongue and chin with hot, sweet fluid.
He stayed on her, mouth sealed, drinking every pulse, tongue still moving, refusing to let go until the last tremor left her body and she collapsed, trembling and wrecked, on the wood.
Only then did he lift his head.
His face was shining with her. Eyes dark. Cock rigid and throbbing against his stomach, the head already wet.
He pulled her up by the hair and kissed her deep and filthy, pushing his tongue into her mouth so she could taste exactly how wet she had been for him.
They moved to the bedroom soon after.
He took her twice more once on her back with her legs pushed wide, once from behind with her face pressed into the pillow. Each time he fucked her with deep, focused strokes, the wet sound of their bodies filling the room.
Meera met him with equal hunger, nails in his back, voice broken, but between the movements Maaran felt a thin, unwanted distance inside himself. His body was fully present.
His mind was not entirely.
After the second time, Meera lay against his chest, catching her breath.
Her fingers traced slow circles on his skin. She was quiet for a while before she spoke.
“You’re different tonight,” she said softly.
Not accusing. Observing. “More intense. Like something is still running under your skin.”
Maaran kept his eyes on the ceiling. “Long studio day. It stays in the body.”
Meera lifted her head and studied his face in the dim light. For a moment it seemed she might ask more. Then she only kissed his shoulder and settled again.
“Just come back fully when you’re home,” she murmured.
He made a low sound of agreement and stroked her hair. The words sat heavier than they should have.
Later, after Meera had fallen into a deep sleep, Maaran lay beside her in the dark.
The house was quiet.
His cock was not.
Aadhini.
The look on her face when she saw the sketches. The way her body had betrayed her in his studio.
The two small moles he had drawn with such care. He had sent everything. The images. The message.
She had not answered.
A slow, dark current moved through him. Even after Meera had taken everything from him tonight, his cock was already thickening again at the memory of Aadhini’s body, Aadhini’s private marks, Aadhini’s silence.
The contrast was sharp and uncomfortable. His wife’s taste was still on his tongue. His wife’s body was warm against his side. And still the other woman occupied the centre of his hunger.
She had seen what he saw in her.
She had felt it.
And the fire was still burning.
He closed his eyes, already hard, already waiting.
Meera lay spread across the heavy wooden dining table, completely naked.
Her thick thighs were dbangd over his shoulders, open and already trembling.
The cool wood pressed against her hot back.
Maaran sat between her legs and buried his face in her.
The first long stroke of his tongue was flat and heavy, dragging slowly from the soaked entrance all the way up through her folds to the swollen clit.
He felt the heat of her against his mouth, the soft wet give of her flesh.
He did it again, slower, pressing harder, letting his tongue sink into every fold.
She was dripping. Thick, sweet fluid coated him immediately tongue, lips, chin.
He groaned into her, low and hungry. The vibration made her thighs jerk.
He settled in and began to feed.
Long, greedy sweeps.
The wet sound of his tongue dragging through her was loud in the quiet room a thick, filthy shluck each time he licked from bottom to top.
He circled her clit with the flat of his tongue, then pointed it and flicked rapidly, the soft wet flick-flick-flick sharp and relentless.
When he sealed his lips around the swollen bud and sucked, the sound turned deeper, wetter a strong, rhythmic suck… suck… suck that made her cry out.
“Maaran… ahhh… fuck—”
Her fingers twisted hard in his hair.
He only pressed closer.
His nose crushed against her clit while his tongue pushed deep inside her, thick and strong, fucking her with it in slow, deliberate thrusts.
He could feel her inner walls flutter against his tongue.
Every time he withdrew, a fresh rush of her wetness followed, coating his chin and dripping down onto the table.
He licked it up without breaking rhythm.
The heat of her pussy was intense against his face.
Her scent filled him.
He sucked her clit back into his mouth and lashed it with the tip of his tongue while his hands gripped her fleshy thighs and forced them wider, pinning her completely open.
The wet noises grew filthier loud slurping, the soft obscene gluck of his tongue thrusting in and out, the wet smack of his lips against her soaked flesh.
“Eat me… eat your wife’s wet pussy… don’t stop—”
She was grinding against his mouth now, hips rolling, smearing her juices across his face.
He growled and gave her more.
He alternated between deep tongue-fucking and hard, focused suction on her clit, never letting her settle.
Every time her breathing hitched he changed the rhythm, keeping her right on the edge.
Her legs began to shake violently around his head.
“I’m close… Maaran… I’m so close… eat me harder—”
He did.
He clamped his mouth over her and sucked with ruthless intensity, tongue working in fast, hard strokes against her clit while two of his fingers slid inside to stroke the swollen spot on her front wall.
The wet sounds became almost continuous a thick, messy symphony of sucking, licking, and her helpless moaning.
When she came, it hit her like a wave.
She screamed his name.
Her back arched clean off the table.
Her pussy clenched hard and then gushed, flooding his tongue and chin with hot, sweet fluid.
He stayed on her, mouth sealed, drinking every pulse, tongue still moving, refusing to let go until the last tremor left her body and she collapsed, trembling and wrecked, on the wood.
Only then did he lift his head.
His face was shining with her. Eyes dark. Cock rigid and throbbing against his stomach, the head already wet.
He pulled her up by the hair and kissed her deep and filthy, pushing his tongue into her mouth so she could taste exactly how wet she had been for him.
They moved to the bedroom soon after.
He took her twice more once on her back with her legs pushed wide, once from behind with her face pressed into the pillow. Each time he fucked her with deep, focused strokes, the wet sound of their bodies filling the room.
Meera met him with equal hunger, nails in his back, voice broken, but between the movements Maaran felt a thin, unwanted distance inside himself. His body was fully present.
His mind was not entirely.
After the second time, Meera lay against his chest, catching her breath.
Her fingers traced slow circles on his skin. She was quiet for a while before she spoke.
“You’re different tonight,” she said softly.
Not accusing. Observing. “More intense. Like something is still running under your skin.”
Maaran kept his eyes on the ceiling. “Long studio day. It stays in the body.”
Meera lifted her head and studied his face in the dim light. For a moment it seemed she might ask more. Then she only kissed his shoulder and settled again.
“Just come back fully when you’re home,” she murmured.
He made a low sound of agreement and stroked her hair. The words sat heavier than they should have.
Later, after Meera had fallen into a deep sleep, Maaran lay beside her in the dark.
The house was quiet.
His cock was not.
Aadhini.
The look on her face when she saw the sketches. The way her body had betrayed her in his studio.
The two small moles he had drawn with such care. He had sent everything. The images. The message.
She had not answered.
A slow, dark current moved through him. Even after Meera had taken everything from him tonight, his cock was already thickening again at the memory of Aadhini’s body, Aadhini’s private marks, Aadhini’s silence.
The contrast was sharp and uncomfortable. His wife’s taste was still on his tongue. His wife’s body was warm against his side. And still the other woman occupied the centre of his hunger.
She had seen what he saw in her.
She had felt it.
And the fire was still burning.
He closed his eyes, already hard, already waiting.
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