The night had stretched late, the hot spring's steamy glow casting a soft shimmer over the scene as Abigaille and Camila lay beside the pool, their naked bodies entwined in a gentle, exhausted embrace.
They slept soundly on the stone floor, a damp towel folded beneath their heads as an pillow, their faces etched with satisfied, tired smiles—proof of the relentless passion they'd endured. Their skin glistened with sweat and traces of milk, utterly bare and vulnerable, their curves pressed together in a comforting hug.
Kafka had clearly worked them to their limits; their battered pussies told the tale—Camila's pale folds red and swollen, Abigaille's darker ones bruised a deep purple, both still leaking his thick, white cum in slow, glistening trails that pooled beneath them on the floor.
Across the pool, Nina—who'd fainted from a single thrust earlier—had awoken from her collapse, her senses returning just as the others succumbed to exhaustion.
