Slurp.
Without beating around the bush, I bury my face below Lune and suck her honey. There's already honey flowing like a river on her thighs, but above all, the honey flowing from the dense valley is sweet and sticky like ambrosia.
Rustle.
Lune drapes the dress hem over my head. As if hiding from someone beside us that I'm eating Lune, she covers my head. I can fully understand the feelings of the French who covered their faces with cloth when eating ortolan.
Lick, slurp.
I bury my face in her crotch under the woman's dress and thrust my tongue into her pussy. The folds of the vaginal walls squeeze my tongue more strongly than ever. It's not just me whose body heated up from the heat of battle. Lune's performance was no exaggeration to call her the number one contributor.
