With every passing minute, the King's grip on his staff weakened.
He had closed his eyes. He couldn't witness this. Couldn't watch his own mother being defiled by some random human.
But the sounds.
Oh, the sounds told him everything.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
The relentless slapping of flesh against flesh.
SPLCH. SPLCH. SPLCH.
The obscene wet squelching of a pussy being ruined.
The King hissed through clenched teeth.
Meanwhile, Jax had pinned the former Queen beneath him.
Her pencil skirt was torn straight down the middle. The ruined fabric hung loosely around her waist—present for formality, serving no actual purpose.
She lay face-up. Jax towered over her. His hips moved like a machine built for one singular purpose.
His cock ravaged her pussy with brutal efficiency. Each thrust produced a symphony of depravity.
SMACK. SPLCH. SMACK. SPLCH.
And his hands? They weren't idle.
Both palms came down on her ass simultaneously.
SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.
