Olivia's gaze drifted to Abigaille, her eyes widening at the glistening mess coating Kafka's thigh, a slick, warm sheen of her love juices dripping down his leg, pooling slightly on the floor below.
The sharp, musky scent of her release filled the air, undeniable and potent, completely different to the time Abigaille had squirted onto the ground, leaving no trace on him.
Now, his skin was drenched, the liquid clinging to him in a lewd display that sent a flush of heat through Olivia's body, her pussy pulsing with a forbidden warmth.
She then glanced down at her own hands, cradling a thick, viscous pool of Kafka's semen, so abundant she'd had to use both hands to contain it, like a bowl brimming with warm, sticky milk.
The weight and heat of it fascinated her, a primal curiosity stirring in her chest despite the shame gnawing at her edges.
