"Dinner looks lovely."
He sniffed the air as he entered the kitchen. She merely blushed, and continued reading the recipe in front of her. Flour streaked her apron, and her hair refused to stay out of her eyes as she tried to make him a dinner he would like.
He crossed to his wife, and wrapped her in his arms.
"I'm not hungry for food tonight."
She brushed away his hands, and dug a measuring cup into some sugar.
"I have to finish this pie, or dinner will be ruined."
He reached out and shut the cookbook in front of her.
"I don't even like pie."
His hands wandered down her legs, and he squatted in front of her. His fingers wrapped around her white thong, and pulled it down. His tongue darted out of his mouth, and she forgot her dinner plans. He drank her in, right on the kitchen floor, and she squealed as he worked his hands. Clothing tossed aside. Dinner forgotten. She pushed up onto her knees, and took him into her mouth.
She'd practiced all night to be able to accommodate him. She felt rather foolish jamming the cucumber she'd planned on using for dinner down her throat. She wasn't even sure if that's how she should practice, but she wanted to get it just right.
Her hands worked his base, and his eyes rolled back in his head. She took her cue, and brought the knife down, severing his cock with a yelp of surprise. She made sure she severed the arterial vein on his leg as well. Witnesses wouldn't do.
And as he gasped and bled on her kitchen floor, she leaned over him and whispered,
"I saw the texts."
