I was already dripping before he touched me. The way he sat back, confident, cock heavy between his thighs I couldn’t stop staring. My husband sat next to me, silent, hard, and watching. He knew exactly what I wanted. I crawled over and kissed the tip — slow, worshipful — letting my tongue tease every inch while my fingers slid between my own legs. My moans got louder, wetter. The heat in the room was unbearable. "You’re not even inside her yet," my husband muttered, stroking himself. "She’s not ready for that," the BBC smirked. "She’s still learning how to behave." My thighs clenched. I was ready. So ready. But they weren’t done playing yet.