Missy van licks
The grand hall, draped in velvet shadows, held its breath as the two candidates knelt before our dais, their submission a palpable heat in the air. Lady Blackdiamoond’s gaze was a physical weight, cool and assessing, while a knowing smile played upon MissyVanLicks’s lips. One man’s jaw went slack with a silent, shuddering gasp as his mouth was gently, firmly guided open, his entire world narrowing to the task of devotion. Beside him, his companion moved with a desperate, aching reverence, his body tensing as he bridged the final, intimate distance. The only sounds were the soft, wet cadence of earnest supplication and the sharp, quick breaths drawn between efforts. His throat worked tirelessly, a deep, rhythmic acceptance of his sacred trial, each movement a silent plea for approval. I watched, my own heart a steady drum, as a profound vulnerability washed over his features, a mixture of strain and ecstasy. A tremor ran through the kneeling form, a gathering storm of sensation that he could no longer contain. His reward was a warm, sudden benediction that painted his cheeks and closed eyelids, a glistening testament to his fervent service. A single, perfect tear traced a path through the moisture on his face, the ultimate offering to us, his watching goddesses.
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