Calla's lips smeared with Mira's leaking shame, her eyes glazed in bliss and obedience as she licked deeper, moaning softly into the pulsing heat of her fellow slave's cunt. Allen watched her intently, his cock slowly rising again—veins bulging, slick with leftover lust, twitching in anticipation like a divine weapon begging to be wielded.
He didn't speak, didn't need to.
The room responded to his silence with a reverent hush—every breath held, every gaze pinned on Calla as she pushed Mira's thighs wider and tongued deeper, dragging her fingers through the mess just to suck them clean. Even the Rhelgar elders, once so proud, were reduced to panting voyeurs—throats dry, skin flushed, their authority dripping away with every wet slurp echoing in the chamber.
Allen leaned forward.
"Brin," he said, his voice cracking the quiet like thunder through silk. "Your turn."
