As a curious contrast, sticky and warm liquid clung to parts of his body. The smells came next, the coppery odor of spilled blood and another; pungent... bitter, sickening. Dorgon couldn’t place it. A wet, bubbling wheezing reached his ears, in time with each heave of his chest.Am I dying? Or is this already the afterlife? The thoughts sparked through his brain like incandescent shooting stars. Or did he say them aloud? His ears only picked up a weak moan.There was more, though. A low, raspy. ‘Do it, deGranville, fuck the little whore.’ ‘No, Father, no, not this,’ Constance said. ‘I must,’ he repeated woodenly. ‘It is the only way. Forgive me.’ He bent down, bracing his hands on either side of her trapped body. His cock touched her belly and she jumped. He lowered himself, only that part of him in contact with her. It brushed through her downy-gold fluff, and he was quaking now, his arms straining, his jaw knotted. ‘Oh, please, no!’ She felt his cockhead part her soft hair and. More

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