Baptize her with Liquor and Spit

You withdraw your cock and spit into her opened mouth.

”Swallow!” The Priest-In-Rags seizes her throat and rewards her shivering obeisance with a kiss. She swallows you both down, and he trails his slaver up from her open mouth, before pushing his slick member back between her lips.

You, meanwhile, search his kitchen. Dirty dishes and a dirtier washcloth, a cupboard containing hard tack and smoked cheese. And another one filled with booze. Workermash and a clear liquor that smells like horse glue.

She gags and gargles, stripped naked and **** on his cock, in anticipation of the baptismal fount. And the Priest-In-Rags is already close to bursting. His face is red and he groans with each thrust, as if in pain. You order him to step aside, and you allow her to worship you back to hardness. Her throat engulfs you, her hands on your hips as she forces herself to take your whole length.

You moan and shiver, letting her venerate your length as you bring the bottle to your lips. The mellow fires of the Rum bring, like dawn, new desires. You step back and she arches, on your order, her body a gaunt buttress and her mouth open for you.

Postern of Fate

She licks her lips for thirst with fevered eyes, and you quench her with just a drop of clear liquid. A strange smell hits your nose, a stony desert rose. But with no scarlet to her leaf – and from whose heart no perfume flows.

Noonday flashes like a flail.

The Priest has moved behind her and turned her head. She rasps, a silence where the birds are dead yet she pipeth like a bird. He has seized her hair and forces himself down her throat, releasing her only for you to wet her lips with Rum. Black spit clings to her hair and drips to the floor. Dark tears mar her face while his cock bulges her neck.

You put your foot between her legs and watch her writhe, her nipples blooming to full hardness. Another shudder has her slide free from his grasp, her open mouth greedily drinking in cool air, pale liquor, and then your throbbing cock. You stretch her throat and slap your balls against her chin, until her eyes roll backwards to leave her dark and blind. She gags, sucking in air through flaring nostrils.

Your stance has widened and the Priest kneels behind her, pushing his fingers into her sopping sex. He uses his palm to fuck her to completion, then rubs himself with her lube while you fuck her skull.

Your approaching orgasm has you step back, watching the Priest stroke his cock until he too readies himself to burst over her face, now flushed and filthy. She, sensing, licks her lips. For thirst. With fevered eyes to face without fear the palms that wave, the streams that burst, his last mirage.

And yours. Neither of you hold back, shooting thick ropes of sticky white over her naked body. You cover her face and stain her hair, leaving semen dripping from her stiff nipples. He mares her nose, graces her ear and then aims lower. Slime trails to fill her belly button and falls as thick drops to the dirty hardwood floor. She whispers nonsense words and sucks your tip, and you then bid her open her mouth to make her gag on Rum.

{if A Heretic = 1}

The High Terrace. A donkey-legged courtesan in her tent.

The BRONZE BIRD sings for you

{elseif An Occultist = 1}

The High Terrace. A donkey-legged courtesan in her tent.

The FIFTH sings for you

{else}

The High Terrace. A donkey-legged courtesan in her tent.

{endif}

The Priest-In-Rags helps her up and kisses her, drinking dark liquid from cum-stained lips.