This is not our wildest sex story but it is one that's very dear to me. It was the middle of October, and we - my fiancée (now wife) and I - were about to host our first dinner party.

My phone rang. “They’re running late,” I told Laura.

“Oh -”

“Yeah, something about a traffic jam,” I answered her puzzled look.

“Jamie’s driving?”

“Yep,” I nodded and we both laughed.

“Well, the table is set. We’ll just have to wait,” she headed to the couch.

“I know what we should do,” I smirked. A quizzical look flashed before dissipating with a “No.”

“C’mon,” I slowly leaned into her, my hand moved across her face down her neck, while the other traced her shoulder and arm. “You’ve been working non-stop this past week. Your body is tense.”

“It’s also sore, Lyn.”

“We’ll sleep in tomorrow. I’ll give you a good massage before sleep,” I whispered into her ear. Before she could say no, I grabbed her headed to our bedroom.

I sat Laura on the bed and gently laid her down before straddling on top, trying my very best not to burden her sore body. We started kissing and by the end, our tongues were writhing inside her.

After a minute or so, I had to remind myself that our friends were coming. I withdrew from her mouth, she opened her eyes with such a lustful gaze that lit something inside me, forced me to shift gears. In a flash, I was half-way on the floor unzipping her pants. I brought them to her knee-level before elevating her legs. With a swift motion, her black-and-white underpants were up with their kin.

And there it was, a sight to behold and - for a moment - I beheld it. The pale skin of her thighs and cheeks, the shades of pink growing darker towards the centre. As if colour was emanating from her and giving life to her form and, in that moment, to me as well. And I hungered for it.

I dove straight in. It took Laura by surprise evident by the sharp exhale. No time for foreplay, and it had nothing to do with our arriving company. She wanted this, and part of her needed it as much as I did. My tongue was running up and down tasting all of her. Her skin got warmer with each lap. And with a final run, I stopped at top of the hill.

It took hardly any effort to uncover my treasure. With every suck, flick, and tug, ripples were sent through her body. After a while, amidst the cheering gasps from my audience of one, I broke away from her. My chin was slippery, offering no resistance against her skin as I hurried down.

The path forward lay beneath a small mess of dripping juices that I needed to lick and drink before resuming inward. A welcome detour and a quenching of thirst for my hard working mouth. I drank from her thrice, felt her invigorating me, then I thrust my tongue inside, determined to fight my way through towards my destination, but my tongue met no resistance. The barriers and barricades that could’ve been there have dissolved into honeyed, welcoming aid.

In a frenzy, my tongue snaked in and out of her, leaving no reachable inch of her insides untasted, delivering the fruits of its labour back to its owner. Her moans got louder as I savoured every drop.

I managed to calm myself and broke free. My lips and lower part of my nose were now covered in her. I could smell her in each breath, not just her vagina or juices but her. A deeper fragrance, unique only to her, the same one I catch a whiff of at the nape of her neck after a long run, or whenever she forgets to put on skincare product. And much like a bloodhound, I am now sure I can track her by scent should the need arise.

I wet two fingers (force of habit) and glided them in her. “Ahhh,” she let out a moan. With a practiced motion to-and-from a familiar spot, my fingers slipped in and out of her very beautiful, now reddish, vulva. There was no thinking; my concentration was unbreakable as my hand brandished their skill in their highest purpose. They dove deep, pushing up against her walls, carrying the momentum into a gentle but firm rub against her g-spot before heading back.

Yet, all my effort met with silence but I knew a storm was coming. In and out, push up alongside her walls, apply enough pressure against her labia while rubbing her g-spot. After a short while, my knuckles were wet and Laura decided to break the silence. “Lyn…” she breathed my name. My concentration was gone and my heart raced. Was she trying to end me? I understand now how words could literally kill.

Again, my gears shifted but this time my body moved on its own I pulled out my fingers, moved up the bed by her side, my left hand pressed against her waist and resumed my tongue’s work. Her clitoris was swollen with excitement. She gasped beneath my fingertips. My right hand slithered into her once more.

More moans. Short O’s whispered into the air with no one to, or have need of, hearing them but me. They were cries of joy, screams of triumph, cheers of a crowd that seeped into me. I couldn’t resist leaning in for a kiss. After a short silence, her back arched upwards and tensed, then it dropped as her squeal announced victory.

She was clenching tightly around my fingers. I started kissing her chest, neck, chin, and lips.

“You okay, hon?” I asked. “Mmm,” she responded.

“We should probably get changed again,” I said.

“Mmm,” her eyes remained shut.

“At the very least, I’m going to have to wash you off my face,” I teased her.

She chuckled and I kissed her again.