Maryam always carried herself with an icy, untouchable grace. The headscarf framing her sharp face was a symbol of her rigid control. Tonight, at our casual gathering, that control would shatter. My friend, her husband, was in on it—we'd spiked her pomegranate juice with a powerful herbal aphrodisiac, a liquid heat designed to melt her frost.

We watched, pulses hammering, as she drained the glass. A faint flush crept up her neck within minutes. Her haughty gaze softened, then glazed with a deep, confused hunger. "I feel... strange," she murmured, fingers plucking at the collar of her modest dress.

"Let us help you relax, Maryam," my friend whispered, guiding her to the plush couch. I knelt before her, my hands sliding up her calves. Through her stockings, her skin felt like heated silk. "You're so tense," I said, my voice rough. My fingers found the hem of her dress, inching it up. She didn't stop me. Her breath hitched as I exposed her thighs—toned and trembling.

My friend cupped her face, kissing her deeply, swallowing her soft moans. I focused lower. Peeling her soaked panties aside, I got my first look at her pussy. Her lips were swollen, glistening, a stark pink against her skin. "So wet already," I growled, blowing a cool breath over her sensitive folds. She jerked, a full-body spasm.

I didn't tease. I dove in, my tongue flattening against her slit.