Lucia's crimson eyes narrowed. The demon girl, the captive, the woman whose body obeyed his commands, felt something she had not expected. Loss. The 'he-owns-me-and-he-is-leaving' loss that was worse than captivity.
Myra's violet eyes, the eyes of a priestess who had been defiled and remade, overflowed. The tears, falling from the corners, ran down her temples and into her hair. The 'he-is-my-god-and-he-is-abandoning-me' despair.
He came.
The orgasm, the final one of the night-long marathon, was not triggered by the sucking or the licking. It was triggered by the sunrise. By the golden light on their faces. By the sight of five women, broken and devoted, looking up at him with eyes that held nothing but worship.
The cum, thick and white, shot from the head. The ropes, arcing downward, fell on the upturned faces. Veilera's forehead. Berenga's cheek. Evriana's chin. Lucia's grey lips. Myra's tongue.
