Jax was completely drained.
Every muscle ached. Every bone felt hollow. His balls might as well have been two deflated balloons.
But as he looked at his latest masterpiece, pride swelled in his chest.
The King's mother lay exactly where he'd left her.
Legs still folded. Feet still touching the space beside her ears. Arms still gripping her own thighs to maintain the obscene position.
She hadn't moved an inch since he'd finished.
Her pussy had become a volcano.
White cum—diluted with her own juices after ninety minutes of relentless pounding—erupted from her swollen hole in slow, rhythmic pulses.
The overflow trickled downward. From pussy to asshole. Pooling briefly in that tight ring before escaping further.
Whatever survived the journey dripped onto the ruined bedsheets below.
A river of depravity connecting all three points.
'Beautiful. Truly beautiful. I should become an artist.'
Then a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Jax turned.
The King.
