On the bed, the Queen was crying.
Her tears fell onto the silk pillowcase. They spread—dark circles on white silk. Her silver hair was loose—Raven had pulled the pins, one by one, while his other hand worked her body. Her dress was gone. Removed piece by piece. Unbuttoned, unclasped, peeled away. Her bra remained. White. Silk. Enormous. The cups were full—overflowing. Her breasts were massive. Heavy. They pressed against the mattress, spreading on either side of her chest, the flesh bulging past the edges of the cups. Her nipples were visible through the thin silk—dark, stiff, aching.
Her panty remained. White. Silk. It covered her ass. Barely. The fabric was thin. It clung to the curve of her cheeks. It rode between them. The crease of her ass was visible through the fabric. The dark shadow of her anal was visible. Lower, the fabric pressed against her pussy—the lips were swollen, puffy, the fabric sinking between them, the wetness soaking through, the silk going transparent.
