He straddled her chest.
His cock was still half-hard. Still thick. Still coated in the mixture of their filth. He pressed it against her heavy tits.
He rubbed it across her flesh. He used her boobs to clean his shaft. The white and violet mixture smeared across her skin. He dragged the head across her red, elongated nipples. They were sensitive. She moaned. A weak, broken sound.
"Clean it," he commanded.
He climbed higher. He sat on her face. His heavy balls rested on her chin. His cock hung above her mouth. The shaft was still dripping. The smell was overwhelming.
She obeyed.
Her tongue came out. It was limp. Exhausted. But she licked. She lapped at his balls. She sucked them into her mouth. One by one. Her cheeks hollowed. She cleaned the sweat and seed from the wrinkled flesh. Her hands—still tied—swirled against his hips. She was gasping. Breathing through her nose. The smell of his crotch was her entire world.
He looked down.
