Their mouths descended.
Both of them. Slow, then hungry.
Veronica's lips wrapped around the crown first — the soft, practiced press of a woman who had done this before and understood the value of patience. Her tongue dragged a slow, deliberate circle below the ridge, tasting herself and Frau Müller both, the mingled evidence of a night already soaked into every ridge of him.
Frau Müller — still trembling, still leaking, her thighs pressed together instinctively against the slow warm seep from her ass — lowered herself beside Veronica with the cautious, disbelieving movement of a woman whose legs barely worked anymore.
'That... long thick thing. Still hard. How.'
She pressed her face beside Veronica's at the shaft. Her tongue came out. She licked up the side without strategy, the way a woman licks something when her brain has gone quiet and only her body is still making decisions.
He watched them both from above, elbow propped, entirely calm.
"Good girls," he said.
