overwhelmed by their multitude; remembering always the high calling of humankind—to grasp the spirit of nature concealed beneath the covering of appearances.
He's whimpering, lapping at your juices with all his might. It's sloppy and only subpar by now, but he remains between your legs, desperate to please and still full of energy. Blabbering apologies between kisses and licks, you huff between strained moans.
“ISon-of-a-bitch,” he muttered, dropping h came to a staggering halt and leaned against a tree while he did his empath-thing, standing quietly with his eyes closed.
"Oh. You have a magic boy. Why didn't you say so?" The priest scratched his forehead beneath the white silk blindfold that covered his eyes. "Magnificent. I'll plant him in the fucking ground and grow a vine to an enchanted land beyond the clouds."