The Queen's sounds were quieter now — not from less sensation but from too much sensation arriving too continuously for her voice to keep up with. She lay at the bottom of this arrangement with her tits — enormous, sweat-glazed, milk-damp — flattened under Yuxi's back, her arms wrapped around her daughter's torso in something that would look like an embrace from the outside and was, functionally, a woman holding on to the only thing available to hold.
The three of them made sounds together.
The maid's screaming, high and broken and desperately honest.
Yuxi's muffled, obstructed moans from the middle layer.
The Queen's low, continuous, almost meditative sounds from underneath.
And over all of it — the flesh sounds.
Phack. PHACK. Phack.
"HAANGHH~!! — MASTER — I'M GOING TO — SOMETHING IS — MY WOMB — YOU'RE FILLING MY — AAAAHNGHHT~!! — IT HURTS — IT HURTS SO — WHY DOES IT FEEL — HIEEKKNGHH~!!"
"MPHHFF~!! — MNGHH~!! — HAAGH~!!"
"Hngh~… mnghh~… haangh~…"
PHACK. PAAAHH.
