Both palms across her ass — hard, the flesh jumping with each impact, thick thighs shuddering, the imprints of his hands blooming red across her pale skin under the moonlight.
She cried out and bent forward.
Hands gripping the railing. Hips raising on shaking legs. Her heels clicked against the stone as she found the position — one leg lifted, hooked over the railing at his order, the pose stripping away the last geometry of dignity, turning the elegant Viscountess into something displayed.
Her hairy pussy was fully visible now — dark curls matted with her own reluctant wet, lips puffy and flushed and glistening in the cold night air. The cum from earlier, the wet of her shame, ran in a thin thread down the inside of her raised thigh.
Viktor watched her leg shake.
The heel of her shoe — the same elegant shoe she had crossed the banquet hall in an hour ago — trembling against the stone railing.
His jaw ached from clenching.
Heartfield aligned himself and drove forward.
