Lich-Fisted Witch Sister by Al Goode

Come well, sister, to Ecclesia Sanguinis, where evangelical pleasures flood, from flesh roots that groan in our desecrated womb, for this vile rite of your red nocturnal bloom. A prohelia night of perverse liberation. Laid goetic on altar for canilingus, our formed tongues rapidly lap your blood. Through phantasia of foreplay on virginal strings, to quicken falls where carnal symphony rings. Submit to our conductors' twin phant penetration. Come forth, our malicious queen, crowned in gold lattice, mother-scum, rapacious mephistress. Accept this offer of hymen immaculate, to uncork fountains of she-ejaculate. Feel the heat of your life, spray in raptured damnation. Your lesbian thirst quenched in foul acts inhuman, her zeal sex-pressed supernatural. She entangles you in slickened feminine limbs, yield to abrasion of vulgar vulval whims. The queen slices your heart in undead coronation. You cool to the touch when shed of warm bitumen, salt and copper taste so natural. Cry your unfettered delights, my sweet masochist. Spread your unclean legs for the queen's talent fist. Or curts her fingers, your demonic menstruation. Your cosmic orgasm peels paint from our convent walls, a splash of flames from God's burning bush. Melting candles escorts in ovarian halls, bringing wet to our lips its spasming push. You are one of us now, drink deep this libation. Pale not at your turning, rather flushed, dark and still. Swallow our blood until you sucker your fill. Lichfistic witch-sisters drench the system with mist. Indulged again, now empirically kissed. www.circlelineartschool.com