Raven could see it. As the lips parted—slightly, with each press of his hands on her ass—a thin, clear strand of fluid connected the inner lips. It stretched. It glinted in the firelight. It broke. It reformed. The Queen's body was responding to the massage with arousal that she could not control. Her labia were swelling. Darkening. The pink was deepening to rose. The inner lips were peeking out—small, thin, glistening.
Her anal was visible too. The ring was dark. Brown. Tight. The muscle was clenched—not from fear, from the tension that the massage was releasing elsewhere and concentrating here. His thumbs brushed it. The Queen flinched. Her breath hitched. Her anal clenched tighter—then relaxed. Then clenched again.
"Enough," the Queen said. Her voice was breathless. "The dress. Remove it. Use the oil."
Old Tomas, standing by the wall, closed his eyes.
His cock was hardening.
