She looked up.
Her eyes were completely white. The irises had rolled upward. Tears streamed down her face. Her nose ran. Her lips were stretched to tearing around his girth. She was beautiful in her ruin. She was pathetic in her submission.
He pulled her back.
She gasped. Saliva hung from her mouth in thick ropes. Her chest heaved. Her heavy tits swayed.
"So," he said, his hand gripping her chin. He smeared her spit across her face with his thumb. "The First Queen has no child. She searches for him. She thinks he was taken by enemies. By assassins. And all this time, he was here. In a dead zone. In a flower shop. With a maid who stole him."
"Please," she sobbed. "I just wanted— I wanted a child. I wanted—"
"Shut up," he said.
He gripped her hair with both hands. He positioned his cock at her lips. He pushed.
