Kafka lounged back on the sofa, his body a quivering altar of primal lust, every muscle taut and shuddering with the aftermath of their creamy onslaught.
His unbottened shirt, soaked through with their milk, clung to his chiseled torso like a second skin, the fabric translucent and glistening, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the faint ripple of his abs beneath.
Milk dripped from his jaw in slow, tantalizing streams, trailing down his throat to pool in the hollow of his collarbone, while his pants—dark and drenched—hugged his throbbing cock, the thick bulge outlined in stark relief, pulsing with every ragged breath he took.
His eyes, dark pools of insatiable hunger, raked over Abigaille, Camila, and Nina as they stood before him, their naked bodies glistening with sweat and milk, their swollen breasts trembling with every shallow pant, nipples leaking in slow, creamy beads that traced paths down their curves.
