Anya reached for a thick stack of sterile tissues from the side table, her movements deliberate, almost reverent. She knelt again between Nathalie's widely spread thighs, the recliner creaking under the shift of weight.
The first tissue met the slick mess of Nathalie's gaping asshole—still pulsing open and closed like a hungry mouth, thick white globs of my cum clinging to the swollen pink rim in sticky webs.
Anya pressed firmly, dragging the tissue in slow, circling strokes that made Nathalie's hips jerk and her breath hitch into sharp, needy gasps.
"Hold still, Mrs. Dexter," Anya murmured, voice low and thick, "I need to clean every trace… though it seems there's no end to what he pumped into you." She folded the soiled tissue over, revealing how it was already soaked through, translucent with creamy seed, then pressed a fresh one directly against the open hole.
