Kafka's fingers lingered on Abigaille's purpled ass, tracing the vivid handprints with a gentle touch, his brow furrowed with concern.
"This really looks like it hurts, Mom." He said, his voice soft but probing, pressing lightly against the bruised skin. "Must sting like hell, huh?"
Abigaille's pout deepened, her eyes glistening with a pitiful glint as she nodded, her voice a soft whimper.
"It does, Kafi." She said, her tone almost childlike as she looked back at him, her plump ass still bared under her lifted skirt. "It hurts a lot. Please, do something about it."
Her gaze was pleading, her body leaning slightly toward him, as if his touch alone could soothe the fire in her skin.
Kafka's hand continued its slow caress, his fingers kneading the tender flesh as he thought for a moment, his expression shifting to one of sudden inspiration.
His eyes brightened, a knowing glint sparking in them as he met Abigaille's gaze.
