Kafka leaned back, his body shuddering with satisfaction as the trio of women stood before him, their hands working their breasts in a frenzy of squeezing and squirting milk which flew in wild, erotic bursts, splattering all over him
His eyes, glazed with pleasure, then zeroed in on Camila first, drinking in the sight of her lush, plump breasts as she angled them with a marksman's precision.
Her fingers dug into the soft flesh, squeezing hard, and a thick, creamy stream shot forth—straight into his open mouth, hitting his tongue with perfect, molten accuracy. The taste exploded across his senses—sweet, warm, and intoxicating and he swallowed greedily, his throat bobbing as milk trickled from the corners of his lips.
"Fuck me, Camila." He said, his voice rough and ragged with arousal, milk glistening on his chin like a badge of debauchery. "You're a goddamn artist with that insane aim of yours, nailing my mouth like a pro. I'm actually genuinely impressed with your talent."
