He guided Morgana down, gentle but firm, to her knees before him.
"Please me, Aunt. Suck your nephew's cock. Taste your grandmother on it."
She hesitated, eyes flicking to Emmanuelle, who nodded, smirking. "Do it, girl. He's our blood. Our lord."
Morgana leaned in, lips parting. Her mouth was hot and tentative at first—tongue swirling the head, lapping Emmanuelle's essence. Jaenor groaned, threading fingers into her auburn hair, guiding deeper. She took more, cheeks hollowing, that bushy mound grinding against her own heel as she knelt. He fucked her face slowly, then faster, her music gags, saliva dripping down her chin onto her breasts.
Emmanuelle joined, kneeling beside, tongue on his balls, sucking while Morgana bobbed.
"Good girls," he grunted.
"My witches. My sluts."
He came with a roar, flooding Morgana's throat. She choked but swallowed, greedy now, shy shell cracking.
Not done.
