The silence in the council hall hung like a guillotine, ready to drop. The elders didn't speak. The maids barely breathed. Only the wet, degrading squelch of the carrot sliding deeper into Nyra's stuffed pussy made a sound, courtesy of Rinni's gleeful hands.
And then came the soft, awful noise of knees scraping against polished marble.
Allen turned slightly, one brow raised.
Elder Lira.
The once-feared fox matron was crawling toward him again—her sagging tits swinging beneath her, her fur patchy with sweat, humiliation, and age. Her face was still bruised from Veyna's open-handed slaps, and her once-proud tail dragged lifelessly behind her like a banner of defeat.
But the worst part?
Her wrinkled, crusty old pussy was leaking. A wet trail followed in her wake, shining red and glistening from abuse and arousal she didn't want to admit.
She lowered herself so low her chin nearly scraped the floor.
