Clara lay on the edge of the bathing pool.
Her legs were spread — not at the knees, but at the ankles. Her feet were together, soles touching, her knees fallen wide to either side. The frog position. The natural, involuntary, 'my-body-has-given-up' posture of a woman whose muscles had stopped responding.
Her hairy pussy — the dark curls matted with cum and blood and squirt — gaped. The lips, freshly deflowered, were swollen. Pink. The entrance — the virgin entrance that had been sealed an hour ago — was open. A gap. The canal, stretched by nine inches of cock and a vibrating tail, hadn't closed.
His seed leaked out.
Thick. White. The cum dribbled from her entrance in slow, heavy streams that ran over her taint, over her asshole, pooling on the cold tile beneath her. The fluid was tinged pink — the blood of her hymen, the evidence of her transition. From virgin to wife. From maid to mother-to-be.
