Not the bottle anymore. The wine itself. The King had poured it—into her cunt, into the opening, the red liquid filling her. It had run inside her—warm, stinging, the alcohol burning the raw, fucked flesh. It had mixed with the seed. It had run out—down her thighs, onto the sheets, staining the red silk darker.
Her tongue was out.
Her mouth was open. Her tongue hung from the corner of her lips—pink, wet, the tip resting on the pillow. Her eyes were half-closed. Rolled back. The whites showing. She was drooling—thin strings of saliva connecting her tongue to the pillow. Her body was trembling—small, continuous tremors, the muscles in her thighs and her stomach and her arms twitching involuntarily.
She was about to lose consciousness.
The King fucked her.
SCHLUK SCHLUK SCHLUK—
