The warmth of Allen's release still clung to her thighs like a brand, sticky and heavy. Soreya knelt in silence, her breath shallow, eyes unfocused, mind hazy. She could feel it dripping from her—the proof of her submission. Of her defeat. Her crown was long gone. Her voice no longer held weight. Her dignity had been peeled away in layers, each thrust, each order, each humiliation stripping her raw. And now, even her silence wasn't hers anymore. It was a silence granted by Allen.
Fina was already crouched beside her, a cloth in hand, but she wasn't cleaning her out of kindness. No, each drag of the cloth was slow, deliberate, just enough to smear the mess down Soreya's thighs rather than wipe it away. She smeared Allen's cum down her skin like war paint, letting it cake against her flushed skin, rubbing in little circles at times just to watch the queen flinch and shiver.
"Still sensitive?" Fina whispered sweetly, voice like honey laced with venom. "That's cute."
