Then she went limp. Slid off the boulder and onto the grass. Slid off his cock, inch by shrinking inch, with a wet, obscene slurp, and lay in a puddle of her own making, tail curled around her thigh, smiling the empty smile of a well-fed pup.
Her pussy gaped. Swollen, dark, used. And from its slack, ruined mouth, his thick white seed began to well up, bulging, drooling, pooling out onto the grass in a slow, creamy flood.
He stood over her. Not even breathing hard. He turned to the wild woman.
"Clean it."
Her spear came up so fast it whistled.
"Clean WHAT, you degenerate demon?! I have murdered river-drakes with my bare hands for LESS insult than, than whatever that sentence was supposed to be!!"
"First wife cleans the pet," he said, as though reciting etiquette. "That is how a den works. You know this. You are the den-mother here."
