Ethan Caldwell displayed a level of patience that bordered on the clinical, waiting with calculated stillness for Julian Sterling's battered body to gradually acclimate to his touch. Only when he felt the initial resistance soften did he slowly, deliberately slide a second finger inside. The two fingers began to curl, forming a firm hook that meticulously began to scavenge and dredge the residual traces of their intimacy left deep within the boy's canal, pushing the fluids outward with practiced ease.
Under the soothing influence of the warm bathwater and the rhythmic, sweeping motions of his fingers, the creamy white semen began to overflow from the reddened entrance, mingling with Julian's own slick secretions and the clear water. It spiraled out into the expansive tub, forming ghostly, pale clouds that drifted aimlessly like mist through a morning sky.
