The mother's milk ran down the stone below her chest.
Pressed flat, the weight of him driving her down with each stroke, her breasts compressed against the stone, milk squeezing out and pooling beneath her in thin white spreading warmth — her chest in the puddle of it, her stomach in it, her body leaking from multiple locations simultaneously.
The daughter could feel the milk.
Warm against her arm, against her ribs where she was pressed close to her mother — and again the specific knowledge, the specific intimacy of what her body was lying in, and again the specific bewildered response of a Yin-Devouring physique that did not know how to be appalled and aroused at the same time and was being asked to be both.
PAH PAH PAAH!
"'—AAAHN~!!! AAAHN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—'"
He picked the daughter up.
