I never planned to taste another woman on my husband. The idea lived in the back of my mind for years, a quiet, shameful heat that surfaced whenever Mark and I made love and my thoughts drifted to the curve of a strangers hips or the slick sound of someone elses wetness. We had talked about it in the dark, his fingers inside me while he described how it would feel, but talking is not doing. Then Elena moved into the apartment downstairs.
She was thirty-two, divorced, and carried herself with the easy confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. The first night we all drank together, the air between the three of us thickened until every laugh felt like foreplay. Marks hand rested on my thigh under the table, but his eyes kept flicking to the way Elenas dress clung to her breasts. I watched him watch her and felt my own pulse answer.
Two weeks later she was in our bed.
I sat in the armchair at first, legs drawn up, wearing only Marks open shirt. Elena lay back against our pillows, dark hair spread across the white cotton, knees bent and open. Mark knelt between her thighs, broad shoulders flexing as he licked her slowly, deliberately, the way he knows drives me insane. I could hear every wet stroke of his tongue. Elenas moans were low and throaty, her hips rolling up to meet him. When she came the first time she grabbed his hair and held him there, thighs trembling.
Mark rose onto his knees, cock flushed and heavy, glistening at the tip. He looked at me. Come here, he said, voice rough.
I crossed the room on unsteady legs and knelt beside him on the bed. Elena watched us with heavy-lidded eyes, one hand lazily circling her clit. Mark turned toward me, and without thinking I leaned in and took him into my mouth.
The taste hit me instantlysweet, musky, unmistakably Elena. Her cream coated the length of him, warm and thick, mixed with the salt of his skin. I moaned around him, the sound vibrating through my throat. It was filthy and intimate at the same time, like I was swallowing proof of what he had just done to her. I licked him clean in long, slow strokes, chasing every trace of her from the head down to the base, then back again. Marks hand settled on the back of my head, not pushing, just holding, while his other hand reached between my legs and found me dripping.
Jesus, baby, he breathed. You like that.
I pulled off long enough to answer. She tastes good on you. Then I took him deep again, sucking harder, greedy for more of that mingled flavor.
Elena moved closer, sliding one leg over mine so her thigh pressed against my hip. She smelled like sex and perfume. Her fingers traced my jaw while I sucked Mark, and when I glanced up she was watching my mouth with parted lips. Let me taste her too, she said softly.
Mark pulled out of my mouth with a wet sound. He shifted, guiding Elena onto her hands and knees, then sank into her from behind in one smooth thrust. I lay beneath them, watching his cock disappear into her again and again. Each time he withdrew he was coated in fresh cream. I reached up and wrapped my fingers around the base of him, feeling the slide, then brought my hand to my mouth and licked my fingers clean. The taste was stronger now, hotter.
When Mark finally pulled out and turned to me, I didnt hesitate. I took him back into my mouth while he was still inside the heat of her moments before. I sucked him with slow, deliberate pulls, hollowing my cheeks, letting the flavor of her flood my tongue. My own arousal was a steady throb between my legs; I rocked my hips against nothing, desperate.
Elenas hand found my hair. Share, she whispered.
I let Mark slip from my lips and leaned in to kiss her. Our mouths met, open and hungry, and I pushed the taste of her own pussy into her mouth with my tongue. She groaned into the kiss, sucking on my tongue like she wanted every drop. Mark watched us, breathing hard, one hand stroking himself slowly.
He didnt last much longer after that. When he came it was across both of our tongues, hot pulses we caught and shared between us in messy, open-mouthed kisses. Afterward we collapsed together, limbs tangled, the room smelling like sweat and sex.
Later, when Elena had gone back downstairs and Mark and I were alone in our bed, he pulled me against his chest. You okay? he asked quietly.
I nodded, pressing my face to his skin. I can still taste her, I confessed. The words felt thick and honest in my throat. On you. In my mouth. I keep thinking about it.
His cock stirred against my thigh. He rolled me onto my back and slid inside me in one slow push. I was so wet he met no resistance. As he moved, I whispered every filthy detail I rememberedhow she had sounded, how his cock had looked disappearing into her, how her taste had coated him. He came again with a low groan, and I followed, clenching around him while the memory of her flavor lingered on my tongue.
We didnt talk about it being a one-time thing. The next weekend Elena came upstairs again, and the weekend after that. Each time I ended up on my knees or on my back, tasting her on him, tasting him on her, the three of us learning the exact shape of one anothers hunger. The first time had been an accident of impulse. Every time since has been deliberate, and I no longer feel any shame about how much I crave it.
When Mark fucks me now, sometimes I close my eyes and remember the exact moment I first wrapped my lips around him after he had been inside her. The heat, the slickness, the sudden sharp knowledge that I was tasting another womans pleasure on the man I loved. It still makes me ache. And when I open my eyes again, more often than not Elena is there too, waiting for her turn to taste us both.
