Her other hand moved.
Between her daughter's spread thighs. Finding the small, swollen clit above the bloodied, stretched entrance. Her thick fingers, still trembling from her own destruction, began to rub.
Slow circles. Gentle. The way she had touched herself years ago, before Vekar, before all of this. The way a woman soothes what cannot be stopped.
"Hnn—ah—hnn—"
The girl's sounds changed.
The screams didn't stop, but something underneath them shifted. The pain and the pleasure of her mother's fingers on her clit, her mother's mouth on her nipple, mixing with the brutal, tearing thrusts of the cock in her virgin cunt.
Cruxius felt it.
The tightness. The grip. The way her virgin walls were trying to adjust to him and failing, clutching at his shaft with every withdrawal, fluttering with every thrust. The blood lubricated his passage, making the friction wet and hot and obscene.
"Fuck—" he groaned. "Tight virgin. Clenching like a fist."
Behind him, the succubus moved.
