tasteofskye

The rest of the fourth round continued without issue. Foley held his own in a fight against a woman armed with two quarter staffs, relying on his tried-and-true method of putting up his defenses and waiting for his enemy to tire. For several minutes, she beat on his shields like she was playing the drums, but when she realized she couldn’t break through, she surrendered, able to walk out of the arena with some of her dignity intact. Not long after, Saimallah claimed victory in another one-sided beatdown against a church agent, never even touching his opponent. The round ended with Seraph narrowly defeating an axe wielder, due much in part to luck. The man was mighty and skilled with his weapon, but the fact remained that if Seraph still had his magic, he wouldn’t have even been a challenge. All of the prince’s victories were won by the skin of his teeth.

When her vibration had subsided, I started licking up the copious amount of pussy juice wetting her labia and running down the inside of her muscular thighs. I spread her lips and ran my tongue back and forth the length of her slit, eliciting some soft moans of appreciation. I put my tongue on her taint and let the motion of her hips run my tongue from the edge of her pussy almost to her asshole. Looking back I really can’t believe I did this my first time out, but all thought, such as it was, was coming from my dick. On the next stroke, I spread her ass and ran my tongue across her asshole and the length of her crack. Mrs. B. froze but didn’t say anything. I ran my tongue slowly down her crack stopping to gently rim her butt hole. I remember being surprised that I liked the taste, and there began my lifetime of eating ass.

Should he do it? Just forfeit the match? To admit before the crowd that their prince was too weak to fight back? After everything that had happened to him, he had no pride left, nothing to lose. Maybe it was better to accept his failure and resign himself to his shame. Lying on the ground, he raised his arm, about to surrender, but stopped, thinking back to a conversation he had with Tarnas. It was during the year of training, the two of them sitting around the campfire on an autumn night. Seraph was staring deep into the flames, into the light and warmth, but all he felt inside was cold darkness.