Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
(This was mostly just me playing around with a different writing style and some imagery. Enjoy!)
The cacophony of voices and shuffling of dress shoes on cobblestone slowly peters out as the villagers filter through the door of the chapel, back to the dirt streets that lead home. The sun is shining brightly on this holy day, a rare gift for the inhabitants that live in this valley. Rays of light filter through the stained glass of the chapel, giving an ethereal glow to the old wood of the pews and structural beams. As the din of the voices ceases completely, one little lamb remains knelt at the seat of the first pew, only feet from the raised altar, her hands clasped together, resting in her lap. Her head is bowed.
Soft, echoey ‘clacks’ of heels cross the pulpit and the lamb raises her head to glance at the source before snapping her head back down in respect. With a frown she anxiously tugs at her Sunday dress, the neckline pulling tight against her chest. She was due for a new one that fit properly, but the harvest had taken a toll on everyone this season, so it would have to wait.
The heels cease their clacking directly in front of the girl on the ground and a cold yet smooth voice floats through the air. “What ails you, little bird?”
The girl clasps her hands tighter where they rest against her thighs and she takes a deep, shaky breath.
“Mother Miranda forgive me, for I have sinned.”
The priestess does not shift from her spot in front of the girl as her voice permeates the air once again. She sounds almost bored. “And, what sin have you committed?”
The girl fidgets with her dress again, feeling restricted by its tightness. “I see the way the young men of the village look upon me. I hear the elders speak of how I will age to be a spinster should I keep rejecting proposals, but…” Her eyes flitter to the side with anxiety and her small voice wavers. “There is another on my mind.”
“Who is this object of your affection?”
Fearful tears begin to pool in the corners of the girl’s eyes, threatening to soil her dress lest they fall. Her voice comes out in a whisper. “Therein lies the sin, Mother.”
The shuffling of clothing can be heard before a soft, cool finger crooks under her chin to tilt her head up. Mother Miranda has knelt in front of her, robes folding against themselves as they pool on the cobble floor. Through a golden, gilded mask, the girl looks deep into steely blue eyes, and she is transfixed.
“Who, child?”
A single tear leaks over the edge and rolls down the girl’s soft, pink cheek. She trembles.
“Forgive me, Mother Miranda, for every Sunday I have lecherous thoughts of them.”
Mother Miranda does not speak, only stares directly into the girl’s eyes. It’s too much for the young woman and she squeezes her eyes shut, unable to hold God’s gaze. Another tremble shakes her frame. “The object of my desire… is you, Mother.”
She keeps her eyes firmly shut, only able to handle a few moments of silence before she cries out, tears streaming down her face. “Forgive me!”
Tenderly, like a newborn fawn seeing for the first time, the young woman blinks her watery eyes open. Her breast is heaving in short, shallow breaths as she continues, struggling against the constraints of her dress. “The men leer at me as though I am a prize to be won. I am not unaware of how I look. But my heart lies not with any one of them. It lies with you.” She takes a shaky breath. “Every Sunday, here in the chapel.”
The silence is deafening and she finally turns her face away from the priestess, ashamed.
“Do not look away from me.”
Unable to control her own body, the girl turns back to face the very object of her sin and her salvation. Mother Miranda’s expression is unreadable as she speaks, the same intensity every present in her eyes.
“You harbor such desires for me?”
Tears fall freely as the young woman nods her head.
“For how long have I been in the forefront of your thoughts at night?”
Memories of nights she’d spent imagining the priestess flash before her eyes and a blush works its way up the girl’s chest. “For years… Mother Miranda.”
Shock briefly flashes in the blonde’s eyes before her usual, scrutinizing expression returns. If anything, she seems to stare more intensely than before.
“You have desired me for years and said nothing?”
The young woman unconsciously bites her lip. “This desire of mine. It is sacrilege. The things I have imagined…” She shakes her head as though to shake the very thoughts away. “I thought it would dissipate. But it grew.”
The fingertip on the young woman’s chin slides up and along her jaw until the priestess is cupping her face with a single hand, thumb precariously close to her bottom lip.
“‘The things you have imagined’, hmm? What things plague your mind?”
The girl's face turns a deep shade of red and her eyes flit about the room, as though looking for a distraction to save her. Panic blossoms in her chest and she squirms where she kneels. Her knees bite into the hard floor. “Please… do not make me speak those images aloud to you now.”
Mother Miranda’s head tilts to the side, studying the girl in her grasp.
“Speak them. These sinful images of yours. I want to hear every single one.”
The young woman trembles, her heart threatening to race right out of her chest. If this is my penance, she thinks to herself, then I shall pay.
“I-I have imagined…” she trembles harder, like a leaf in a blustery breeze. “...a different kind of worship.”
The priestess leans slightly forward, invading the girl’s space as her hand squeezes her jawline.
“And how would you worship me?”
The girl’s pleading eyes lift to stare wide and round into her deity’s, but she finds no mercy. “I have never spoken any of it aloud. Even to myself at night when I am alone.”
“You will speak every — single — sinful — thought — you have had about me. No matter how wicked.”
The young woman shivers once more, but she steels her resolve and speaks, eyes fixated on the blue ones she dreams of so oft. “I imagine… my mouth between your legs. With your hand in my hair guiding me to where you want me most.” She swallows a lump in her throat, and her voice comes out hushed, barely above a whisper. “I imagine… your fingers… pressed in me, your lips on mine.”
Mother Miranda’s eyes trail the girl’s throat as she swallows before lifting her gaze back up. “Tell me, little bird.” If the girl didn’t know any better, she’d say the priestess’ voice sounded slightly strained.
But she did know better.
She did.
“In these images of yours, how do these scenarios play out?”
“In my dreams,” The young woman feels a wetness pool between her thighs at her confessions, and her eyes dart to the front of the pulpit before returning to Mother Miranda’s intense stare, “you take me on the altar…”
The girl’s lip trembles as the thumb on her chin presses up and slowly slips between her lips as Mother Miranda speaks in a measured tone. “Right on the altar, hmm?”
Her thumb begins to rub back and forth against the young woman’s tongue, the blonde’s eyes never leaving her face, and it sends a jolt through the girl’s body. Hesitantly, she begins to suck on it, not daring to take her eyes away from the blonde’s gaze. A soft gasp escapes the priestess, so quiet that if the girl weren’t directly in front of her it would have gone unheard. The heat between her legs grows.
Mother Miranda presses the thumb deeper into the girl’s mouth, pushing down on her tongue as the girl sucks on her. “Such an impure thing. To think such thoughts of your priestess.”
The girl only nods, lost in a haze as she suckles and a light moan vibrates in the back of her throat. Mother Miranda’s movement stops and after a moment she pulls her thumb away. Her breath comes in slightly more labored than before and her pupils eclipse most of her iris. She reaches up to lift her golden mask away, tossing it unceremoniously onto the ground, allowing her long hair to flow freely down her shoulders.
The young woman gasps at the face of her deity, and demurely stares up at her with wide, round eyes. Miranda’s hand snatches out once again to grip the girl’s chin tightly, nails digging into her skin, and the pressure of it feels worth every moment she spent praying, every Sunday she arrived to the chapel early to get a seat in the front pew, every bruise on her knee.
“Come closer, little bird.”
Her grip draws the girl nearer to her face, making her crawl on her knees until she is mere inches away, her breath fanning the priestess’ face. Though she would never complain, willingly following the bidding. “I am yours to command.”
Mother Miranda inhales sharply through her nose. “Worship me, then, little dove. As you have been wanting for so long.”
There is a moment of hesitation, the only sound echoing throughout the chapel being the exhale of the young woman in disbelief at the blonde’s words. As soon as the command registers, the girl wastes no time rushing into the priestess, hands softly clutching at the woman’s waist as she presses kiss after kiss into the woman’s neck and under her chin, tiny moans passing through her lips as she works. She feels delicate fingers thread through her hair, pressing her closer. The other hand still clutches her chin, forcing her as close to the blonde as possible.
The girl’s arms wrap around behind Mother Miranda, fingers splaying across her shoulder blades as she sinks lower. “Mother Miranda. I wish to worship you here.” She breathes out against the blonde’s clothed chest.
“Then worship me there, little sinner.” Her voice is ragged as she speaks, a tone the girl has never heard before. She reaches a single hand up to gingerly pull at the zipper on Miranda’s robes, dragging it down her spine, releasing the priestess’ upper body from the confines. Light kisses are peppered across Miranda’ throat as the girl pulls the cloth away from pristine skin, down, down, down until the fabric pools at her waist.
“You are even more beautiful than I imagined…” The young woman whispers out, marveling at the new skin revealed to her. She traces scattered freckles with light fingertips, familiarizing herself with Miranda’s body, before once again leaning forward to place her mouth on a perfect breast. The girl moans as she lavishes her tongue against soft skin, relishing the ability to touch the woman of her affection, to love her as she’s dreamed it for years. Her hands stroke up and down the priestess’ sides, delighting in the feel.
The hand buried in thick hair tightens its grip as the girl works her way back up Mother Miranda’s neck, then to her ear. “I want to taste you. Please, can I?” It comes out breathy and wanton.
“Yes, little bird, taste your God.”
A shiver runs up the girl’s spine at the permission and she drags her mouth down Mother Miranda’s front as she shifts further back on her knees. She pulls the black robes further down the blonde’s thighs and she gasps upon seeing her priestess’ glistening core for the first time. Her body practically vibrates with a mix of devotion and desire and she breathes out in reverence, “you’re perfect…”
Mother Miranda leans back, resting her weight on a single palm as her other hand comes to lie gently on the young woman’s shoulder as she leans in closer to hover just before her glorious prize. She plants kisses like little prayers up the skin of inner thighs, from knee to center, and then snakes her hands around to caress the swell of Mother Miranda’s hips as her mouth descends.
The lamb tastes the wolf.
At the first touch of the young woman’s warm, wet tongue, Mother Miranda’s head rolls back, her eyes closing as pleasure begins to grow and a single, perfect hand flies to the girl’s hair, tangling through the strands to form a firm grip. The girl worships, moaning as she does, tongue swirling around, tasting the skin of her priestess, rejoicing with every pant that falls from the blonde’s lips.
Mother Miranda’s grip tightens, pulling the girl further into her, her pants transitioning into soft moans, and the girl takes the hint, pressing her tongue past the blonde’s entrance and into the soft, silky heat of her core, groaning into warm, wet folds as he does.
“Little bird—ah…yes..” The priestess pants out, hand clutching tightly, preventing the girl from moving away, “... just like that.”
Not that the young woman would ever move away. She would rather suffocate here at the altar of her God. Her hands grip Mother Miranda’s hips a little tighter, fingers digging into flesh and the resulting tremble from the thighs surrounding her head become her new prayer.
The praise from the blonde makes her keen as she ignores the ache blossoming in her jaw. She wears it like a badge of honor, a reminder of the gift she’s been given.
And give she would until her heart gave out. If that’s what her God wished.
Strained moans now fall freely from the priestess’ lips as her hips begin to roll against the girl’s mouth, pulling even harder with her hand as she grinds, chasing her own pleasure.
“Fuck.” The blonde bites out sharply, her hips jerking into the warm mouth bringing her so much pleasure. “Keep—keep going. Mmmhhhh. Don’t—stop.” It is not a plea, but a command. A warning.
The young woman whimpers against her, the sound lost as it’s muffled out against wet heat. The girl pulls her tongue out and lifts her mouth up to wrap her lips around Miranda’s clit and she sucks, pulling a deep, guttural groan from the priestess’ throat and the sound echoes, pinging around the stone of the chapel.
Suddenly, Miranda’s thigh snap tight around the girl’s head, trembling, and for a moment, as she struggles for air, she wonders if these will be her final moments.
A perfect death.
She can feel wetness gushing from the blonde’s core, coating her lips and chin as the woman grinds erratically, riding out her high against the young woman’s face.
After a few moments, Mother Miranda’s thighs relax, releasing the girl from their vice grip as she loosens her grip on the girl’s hair at the same time. The young woman sucks in a breath, filling her aching lungs before lolling her tongue back out to give light licks to the blonde’s clit, not wanting to give up the taste.
Miranda sighs and uses the hand, still on the girl’s head, to gently push her away, stroking a damp hair out of her face.
“Oh, my little sinner…” She coos, her face flushed. “How devoted you are.”
Joy like she’s never experienced bubbles up in the young woman’s chest and her lovestruck eyes shine with endless devotion as she turns to press a soft kiss to the inside of Miranda’s thigh. “For you, I am the most devoted.” She whispers, her voice sparkling with awe.
The word ‘sinner’ no longer strikes her heart with fear, not when God uses that tone.
Overcome with love and adoration, the girl makes a bold request.
“Mother Miranda… may I kiss you?”
The priestess chuckles, her eyes dark and amused. “Come here, child.”
The young woman climbs her way up the blonde’s body until she is just below her height, her nose in line with Miranda’s chin. The girl’s eyes are glued to soft, pink lips.
“So polite for a dirty, little sinner.” The priestess hisses, a wicked look of satisfaction on her face as she brushes her fingers against the girl’s jawline, leaving a trail of fire against her feverish skin. “Go ahead, little bird…”
Her words are like a live wire in the girl’s chest and she wastes not a moment as she swiftly leans up to press a devastatingly gentle kiss to the blonde’s mouth. A desperate sigh floats from her mouth to Miranda’s, and it becomes a gasp for air when she feels the hand on her jaw slide firmly to the back of her neck. The older woman takes the opportunity to press her tongue into the girl’s sweet mouth, dominating, invading, like her parasite.
Lost in her haze of lust and devotion, the girl’s body moves of its own accord as she pushes forward, aching to melt into the intensity of the woman in front of her, ending up with her legs straddling Mother Miranda’s thighs as the blonde is forced to bend her knees and sit back on her feet. The young woman’s hips roll forward, causing Miranda to gasp against her lips, and immediately she pulls away in shock and horror at the action, slapping her hands over her mouth.
“I apologize, Mother Miranda. I don’t know what came over me.” She shoots out, her eyes wide and she trembles in fear.
Sharp fingernails scrape the skin at the base of her neck.
“No need to apologize for devoted worship, little bird.”
A shiver runs through her.
The hand on the nape of her neck slowly slides up into her hair, slowly forming a tight grip before that same hand yanks her back to Mother Miranda’s mouth, the kiss harder and more desperate. The young woman brings a hand up to cup a soft, silky cheek as she presses forward with a fervor. She gives an experimental roll of her hips and is rewarded with a deep moan into her mouth. The priestess’ other hand reaches up to grasp firmly at the girl’s hip and squeezes.
“In life and in death…” The familiar words tumble from her lips, her other hand now clutching at Mother Miranda’s bare waist. “I give glory…” Her voice whispers out in reverence, sounding foreign to her ears, though it does not frighten her. “...Mother Miranda.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
(This was mostly just me playing around with a different writing style and some imagery. Enjoy!)
The cacophony of voices and shuffling of dress shoes on cobblestone slowly peters out as the villagers filter through the door of the chapel, back to the dirt streets that lead home. The sun is shining brightly on this holy day, a rare gift for the inhabitants that live in this valley. Rays of light filter through the stained glass of the chapel, giving an ethereal glow to the old wood of the pews and structural beams. As the din of the voices ceases completely, one little lamb remains knelt at the seat of the first pew, only feet from the raised altar, her hands clasped together, resting in her lap. Her head is bowed.
Soft, echoey ‘clacks’ of heels cross the pulpit and the lamb raises her head to glance at the source before snapping her head back down in respect. With a frown she anxiously tugs at her Sunday dress, the neckline pulling tight against her chest. She was due for a new one that fit properly, but the harvest had taken a toll on everyone this season, so it would have to wait.
The heels cease their clacking directly in front of the girl on the ground and a cold yet smooth voice floats through the air. “What ails you, little bird?”
The girl clasps her hands tighter where they rest against her thighs and she takes a deep, shaky breath.
“Mother Miranda forgive me, for I have sinned.”
The priestess does not shift from her spot in front of the girl as her voice permeates the air once again. She sounds almost bored. “And, what sin have you committed?”
The girl fidgets with her dress again, feeling restricted by its tightness. “I see the way the young men of the village look upon me. I hear the elders speak of how I will age to be a spinster should I keep rejecting proposals, but…” Her eyes flitter to the side with anxiety and her small voice wavers. “There is another on my mind.”
“Who is this object of your affection?”
Fearful tears begin to pool in the corners of the girl’s eyes, threatening to soil her dress lest they fall. Her voice comes out in a whisper. “Therein lies the sin, Mother.”
The shuffling of clothing can be heard before a soft, cool finger crooks under her chin to tilt her head up. Mother Miranda has knelt in front of her, robes folding against themselves as they pool on the cobble floor. Through a golden, gilded mask, the girl looks deep into steely blue eyes, and she is transfixed.
“Who, child?”
A single tear leaks over the edge and rolls down the girl’s soft, pink cheek. She trembles.
“Forgive me, Mother Miranda, for every Sunday I have lecherous thoughts of them.”
Mother Miranda does not speak, only stares directly into the girl’s eyes. It’s too much for the young woman and she squeezes her eyes shut, unable to hold God’s gaze. Another tremble shakes her frame. “The object of my desire… is you, Mother.”
She keeps her eyes firmly shut, only able to handle a few moments of silence before she cries out, tears streaming down her face. “Forgive me!”
Tenderly, like a newborn fawn seeing for the first time, the young woman blinks her watery eyes open. Her breast is heaving in short, shallow breaths as she continues, struggling against the constraints of her dress. “The men leer at me as though I am a prize to be won. I am not unaware of how I look. But my heart lies not with any one of them. It lies with you.” She takes a shaky breath. “Every Sunday, here in the chapel.”
The silence is deafening and she finally turns her face away from the priestess, ashamed.
“Do not look away from me.”
Unable to control her own body, the girl turns back to face the very object of her sin and her salvation. Mother Miranda’s expression is unreadable as she speaks, the same intensity every present in her eyes.
“You harbor such desires for me?”
Tears fall freely as the young woman nods her head.
“For how long have I been in the forefront of your thoughts at night?”
Memories of nights she’d spent imagining the priestess flash before her eyes and a blush works its way up the girl’s chest. “For years… Mother Miranda.”
Shock briefly flashes in the blonde’s eyes before her usual, scrutinizing expression returns. If anything, she seems to stare more intensely than before.
“You have desired me for years and said nothing?”
The young woman unconsciously bites her lip. “This desire of mine. It is sacrilege. The things I have imagined…” She shakes her head as though to shake the very thoughts away. “I thought it would dissipate. But it grew.”
The fingertip on the young woman’s chin slides up and along her jaw until the priestess is cupping her face with a single hand, thumb precariously close to her bottom lip.
“‘The things you have imagined’, hmm? What things plague your mind?”
The girl's face turns a deep shade of red and her eyes flit about the room, as though looking for a distraction to save her. Panic blossoms in her chest and she squirms where she kneels. Her knees bite into the hard floor. “Please… do not make me speak those images aloud to you now.”
Mother Miranda’s head tilts to the side, studying the girl in her grasp.
“Speak them. These sinful images of yours. I want to hear every single one.”
The young woman trembles, her heart threatening to race right out of her chest. If this is my penance, she thinks to herself, then I shall pay.
“I-I have imagined…” she trembles harder, like a leaf in a blustery breeze. “...a different kind of worship.”
The priestess leans slightly forward, invading the girl’s space as her hand squeezes her jawline.
“And how would you worship me?”
The girl’s pleading eyes lift to stare wide and round into her deity’s, but she finds no mercy. “I have never spoken any of it aloud. Even to myself at night when I am alone.”
“You will speak every — single — sinful — thought — you have had about me. No matter how wicked.”
The young woman shivers once more, but she steels her resolve and speaks, eyes fixated on the blue ones she dreams of so oft. “I imagine… my mouth between your legs. With your hand in my hair guiding me to where you want me most.” She swallows a lump in her throat, and her voice comes out hushed, barely above a whisper. “I imagine… your fingers… pressed in me, your lips on mine.”
Mother Miranda’s eyes trail the girl’s throat as she swallows before lifting her gaze back up. “Tell me, little bird.” If the girl didn’t know any better, she’d say the priestess’ voice sounded slightly strained.
But she did know better.
She did.
“In these images of yours, how do these scenarios play out?”
“In my dreams,” The young woman feels a wetness pool between her thighs at her confessions, and her eyes dart to the front of the pulpit before returning to Mother Miranda’s intense stare, “you take me on the altar…”
The girl’s lip trembles as the thumb on her chin presses up and slowly slips between her lips as Mother Miranda speaks in a measured tone. “Right on the altar, hmm?”
Her thumb begins to rub back and forth against the young woman’s tongue, the blonde’s eyes never leaving her face, and it sends a jolt through the girl’s body. Hesitantly, she begins to suck on it, not daring to take her eyes away from the blonde’s gaze. A soft gasp escapes the priestess, so quiet that if the girl weren’t directly in front of her it would have gone unheard. The heat between her legs grows.
Mother Miranda presses the thumb deeper into the girl’s mouth, pushing down on her tongue as the girl sucks on her. “Such an impure thing. To think such thoughts of your priestess.”
The girl only nods, lost in a haze as she suckles and a light moan vibrates in the back of her throat. Mother Miranda’s movement stops and after a moment she pulls her thumb away. Her breath comes in slightly more labored than before and her pupils eclipse most of her iris. She reaches up to lift her golden mask away, tossing it unceremoniously onto the ground, allowing her long hair to flow freely down her shoulders.
The young woman gasps at the face of her deity, and demurely stares up at her with wide, round eyes. Miranda’s hand snatches out once again to grip the girl’s chin tightly, nails digging into her skin, and the pressure of it feels worth every moment she spent praying, every Sunday she arrived to the chapel early to get a seat in the front pew, every bruise on her knee.
“Come closer, little bird.”
Her grip draws the girl nearer to her face, making her crawl on her knees until she is mere inches away, her breath fanning the priestess’ face. Though she would never complain, willingly following the bidding. “I am yours to command.”
Mother Miranda inhales sharply through her nose. “Worship me, then, little dove. As you have been wanting for so long.”
There is a moment of hesitation, the only sound echoing throughout the chapel being the exhale of the young woman in disbelief at the blonde’s words. As soon as the command registers, the girl wastes no time rushing into the priestess, hands softly clutching at the woman’s waist as she presses kiss after kiss into the woman’s neck and under her chin, tiny moans passing through her lips as she works. She feels delicate fingers thread through her hair, pressing her closer. The other hand still clutches her chin, forcing her as close to the blonde as possible.
The girl’s arms wrap around behind Mother Miranda, fingers splaying across her shoulder blades as she sinks lower. “Mother Miranda. I wish to worship you here.” She breathes out against the blonde’s clothed chest.
“Then worship me there, little sinner.” Her voice is ragged as she speaks, a tone the girl has never heard before. She reaches a single hand up to gingerly pull at the zipper on Miranda’s robes, dragging it down her spine, releasing the priestess’ upper body from the confines. Light kisses are peppered across Miranda’ throat as the girl pulls the cloth away from pristine skin, down, down, down until the fabric pools at her waist.
“You are even more beautiful than I imagined…” The young woman whispers out, marveling at the new skin revealed to her. She traces scattered freckles with light fingertips, familiarizing herself with Miranda’s body, before once again leaning forward to place her mouth on a perfect breast. The girl moans as she lavishes her tongue against soft skin, relishing the ability to touch the woman of her affection, to love her as she’s dreamed it for years. Her hands stroke up and down the priestess’ sides, delighting in the feel.
The hand buried in thick hair tightens its grip as the girl works her way back up Mother Miranda’s neck, then to her ear. “I want to taste you. Please, can I?” It comes out breathy and wanton.
“Yes, little bird, taste your God.”
A shiver runs up the girl’s spine at the permission and she drags her mouth down Mother Miranda’s front as she shifts further back on her knees. She pulls the black robes further down the blonde’s thighs and she gasps upon seeing her priestess’ glistening core for the first time. Her body practically vibrates with a mix of devotion and desire and she breathes out in reverence, “you’re perfect…”
Mother Miranda leans back, resting her weight on a single palm as her other hand comes to lie gently on the young woman’s shoulder as she leans in closer to hover just before her glorious prize. She plants kisses like little prayers up the skin of inner thighs, from knee to center, and then snakes her hands around to caress the swell of Mother Miranda’s hips as her mouth descends.
The lamb tastes the wolf.
At the first touch of the young woman’s warm, wet tongue, Mother Miranda’s head rolls back, her eyes closing as pleasure begins to grow and a single, perfect hand flies to the girl’s hair, tangling through the strands to form a firm grip. The girl worships, moaning as she does, tongue swirling around, tasting the skin of her priestess, rejoicing with every pant that falls from the blonde’s lips.
Mother Miranda’s grip tightens, pulling the girl further into her, her pants transitioning into soft moans, and the girl takes the hint, pressing her tongue past the blonde’s entrance and into the soft, silky heat of her core, groaning into warm, wet folds as he does.
“Little bird—ah…yes..” The priestess pants out, hand clutching tightly, preventing the girl from moving away, “... just like that.”
Not that the young woman would ever move away. She would rather suffocate here at the altar of her God. Her hands grip Mother Miranda’s hips a little tighter, fingers digging into flesh and the resulting tremble from the thighs surrounding her head become her new prayer.
The praise from the blonde makes her keen as she ignores the ache blossoming in her jaw. She wears it like a badge of honor, a reminder of the gift she’s been given.
And give she would until her heart gave out. If that’s what her God wished.
Strained moans now fall freely from the priestess’ lips as her hips begin to roll against the girl’s mouth, pulling even harder with her hand as she grinds, chasing her own pleasure.
“Fuck.” The blonde bites out sharply, her hips jerking into the warm mouth bringing her so much pleasure. “Keep—keep going. Mmmhhhh. Don’t—stop.” It is not a plea, but a command. A warning.
The young woman whimpers against her, the sound lost as it’s muffled out against wet heat. The girl pulls her tongue out and lifts her mouth up to wrap her lips around Miranda’s clit and she sucks, pulling a deep, guttural groan from the priestess’ throat and the sound echoes, pinging around the stone of the chapel.
Suddenly, Miranda’s thigh snap tight around the girl’s head, trembling, and for a moment, as she struggles for air, she wonders if these will be her final moments.
A perfect death.
She can feel wetness gushing from the blonde’s core, coating her lips and chin as the woman grinds erratically, riding out her high against the young woman’s face.
After a few moments, Mother Miranda’s thighs relax, releasing the girl from their vice grip as she loosens her grip on the girl’s hair at the same time. The young woman sucks in a breath, filling her aching lungs before lolling her tongue back out to give light licks to the blonde’s clit, not wanting to give up the taste.
Miranda sighs and uses the hand, still on the girl’s head, to gently push her away, stroking a damp hair out of her face.
“Oh, my little sinner…” She coos, her face flushed. “How devoted you are.”
Joy like she’s never experienced bubbles up in the young woman’s chest and her lovestruck eyes shine with endless devotion as she turns to press a soft kiss to the inside of Miranda’s thigh. “For you, I am the most devoted.” She whispers, her voice sparkling with awe.
The word ‘sinner’ no longer strikes her heart with fear, not when God uses that tone.
Overcome with love and adoration, the girl makes a bold request.
“Mother Miranda… may I kiss you?”
The priestess chuckles, her eyes dark and amused. “Come here, child.”
The young woman climbs her way up the blonde’s body until she is just below her height, her nose in line with Miranda’s chin. The girl’s eyes are glued to soft, pink lips.
“So polite for a dirty, little sinner.” The priestess hisses, a wicked look of satisfaction on her face as she brushes her fingers against the girl’s jawline, leaving a trail of fire against her feverish skin. “Go ahead, little bird…”
Her words are like a live wire in the girl’s chest and she wastes not a moment as she swiftly leans up to press a devastatingly gentle kiss to the blonde’s mouth. A desperate sigh floats from her mouth to Miranda’s, and it becomes a gasp for air when she feels the hand on her jaw slide firmly to the back of her neck. The older woman takes the opportunity to press her tongue into the girl’s sweet mouth, dominating, invading, like her parasite.
Lost in her haze of lust and devotion, the girl’s body moves of its own accord as she pushes forward, aching to melt into the intensity of the woman in front of her, ending up with her legs straddling Mother Miranda’s thighs as the blonde is forced to bend her knees and sit back on her feet. The young woman’s hips roll forward, causing Miranda to gasp against her lips, and immediately she pulls away in shock and horror at the action, slapping her hands over her mouth.
“I apologize, Mother Miranda. I don’t know what came over me.” She shoots out, her eyes wide and she trembles in fear.
Sharp fingernails scrape the skin at the base of her neck.
“No need to apologize for devoted worship, little bird.”
A shiver runs through her.
The hand on the nape of her neck slowly slides up into her hair, slowly forming a tight grip before that same hand yanks her back to Mother Miranda’s mouth, the kiss harder and more desperate. The young woman brings a hand up to cup a soft, silky cheek as she presses forward with a fervor. She gives an experimental roll of her hips and is rewarded with a deep moan into her mouth. The priestess’ other hand reaches up to grasp firmly at the girl’s hip and squeezes.
“In life and in death…” The familiar words tumble from her lips, her other hand now clutching at Mother Miranda’s bare waist. “I give glory…” Her voice whispers out in reverence, sounding foreign to her ears, though it does not frighten her. “...Mother Miranda.”
Your hand trembled as it raised to knock on the large door of Lady Dimitrescu’s chambers. Earlier today, she had arrived home from a meeting with Mother Miranda. You assumed the meeting did not go well as Alcina stomped through her home, screaming at you to get out of her way in the process. Alcina had always had a soft spot for you, so it caught you completely off guard when she spoke to you this way. It scared you to say the least.
“Enter” Her voice bellowed from inside her chambers. You entered her room and walked over to where she was sat on her large bed, keeping your distance just in case.
“You wanted to see me, my lady?”
Alcina’s big hand patted the mattress in the middle of the bed, motioning for you to sit. You climbed up with difficulty and once you were sat in the middle, she got off the bed to kneel on the floor so she had easier access to you. Her height often made it difficult to touch and kiss you, and so she had to come up with ways to make it easier and right now that meant you being on the bed, and her kneeling on the floor, leaning over the edge so she was face to face with you.
She took your face in both of her hands, her bright yellow eyes looking deep into yours and she spoke with a voice softer than you have ever heard from her. “My dear, I am so very sorry if I frightened you. That is the last thing I ever want to do”.
You had no idea what she had in mind when you were told by another maid that she requested you in her chambers, but it was not this. Alcina never apologised, for anything.
“Oh…that’s quite alright. You had a difficult morning, I understand”.
Her thumbs began to trace over the skin of your cheeks lightly. “It is not alright. When I saw the pain across your beautiful face and the way you trembled after the way I spoke to you…it made my heart ache. I apologise, my love”.
Before you could respond Alcina had pressed her lips onto yours. Soft, gentle and sweet, like she was afraid to hurt you. She pulled away, but she didn’t stop there. Her lips moved to kiss both of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, all over your forehead. She left soft little kisses everywhere until you had red lipstick marks all over your face and finally, you cracked a smile as you giggled at her playfulness. It was rare you got to see her like this.
She felt her heart skip a beat at the smile on your face, happy that you were finally happy again. “Much better”.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
discoholicmusic
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
andulkaphoto
