Masonic Boys - Apprentice Maxx Monroe Chapter 4
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It had not been that lengthy since Apprentice Monroe's disciplinary rituals at the palms of Grandmaster Wolf. The Apprentice had been spread and manhandled beyond measure, but not with cruelty. There had been a good hollowing out of him, yes, but that which was eliminated from him was doubt, and worry. In its place, directly administered into his assets thru The Order's orgasmic rituals, Apprentice Monroe had found his calling. He found a purpose. Which brought him to that evening's invitation. Sir Figata, dressed in a milky suit with a crisp milky button down and tie, led the boy with his large, stony palms into a guest room for what was pronounced as his "ordination." The guest room was white, bright, pristine with otherworldly energy, as if it had been plucked from a distant, prior century. There was a temple daybed, sparse furniture, and a couch. Sir Figata sat down, and brought the boy with. The Sir perved at the boy with a rigid gaze, eyes glinting with confidence. "You know why you're here, right?" It had been sometime since this Apprentice had last seen Sir Figata. The Sir was the one who called him into the quiet, air conditioned hiss of the office. There, Sir Figata had grilled the youthfull apprentice as to whether or not he was attracted to men. It felt ditzy to have denied the question then—doubly so now, here in the guest room of ordination, where he gave a highly different answer. "Yes," Monroe was happy to sit on the couch, feeble in the knees by being just in the presence of one of The Order’s masters. Sir Figata could feel the difference in the boy's energy, the difference in his awareness of what his aim was—both within The Order and outside it. He unclothed the boy of his tie, then shirt, then trousers. Slowly, with the sanctity it deserves, Sir Figata disrobed the apprentice down to just a shred of garment. The boy's increasing in size swelling was briefly free-for-all of all constraints. free-for-all to obey its Master. Monroe had not been with many men, only those within The Order, really, but each of those moments was off the hook to him, and charged with revelation. Since The Order had reached out, this was the first-ever time he got to revisit a Sir from his prior stage of calling, a time so lengthy ago now that he was sure he had become a different person. Electrical he was by this, when Sir Figata did unclothe down to his own undergarments, the boy could slightly keep himself from submerging his face into his Master's nether regions. There was no need to rush—Master Figata's strong capture slowed the boy, and brought his snuffles to an subordinated pace. At first, the taste of the Sir was sweet, and not totally unfamiliar. A taste he could place as one of desire, of love, of yearning. But as the Master's odor pounded the boy's nostrils that succulent taste transformed into something far more arousing. He deep-throated and gagged on Master's hefty cock, a concoction of slobber and precum cascading down his chin, until Figata was sated with his boy's finesse. Sir Figata guided Apprentice Monroe to lie throughout the couch. Securing the boy's thighs in his metal grip, the Sir drove his tongue deep inwards that youthfull ass. He ate him rigid and fast, then pulled back for a moment to sight the boy in the eyes, with an expression of triumph in his face. The Apprentice was yielding, like butter, and had come so far along in his journey. With the same tool that spread Monroe's jaw to its limit, Sir Figata brought his cockhead to the boy's entrance. With one rock hard stroke, he was sunk to the root inwards the boy's taut ass. Sir started thrusting slowly, the experiencing of his huge tool boning in and out of the boy's crevice making them both yell in unison. His balls spanked against the youthfull man’s butt cheeks each time the Sir entirely tucked inside. The tempo quickened, orchestrated as much by their own passions as by the will of The Order witnessing over them. The spirit of The Brotherhood welled up within them both. They were a blur of thrusts, Apprentice and Sir completely in sync with each other. Their bods distorted plump the leather couch until they ended up, hardon-to-hardon, frotting insanely against each other, their munches lost in combat. Eventually, Sir Figata blasted his seed, first-ever on his stomach, and then onto the couch underneath them. When they had caught their breath, they shared a kiss. When Sir Figata first-ever took Apprentice Monroe under his wing, he had not been sure how lengthy the boy would last—either physically, or mentally. This accomplished Sir desired all that The Order had to suggest this worthy apprentice. He ordained the boy's forehead and crevice with the spurts of his exalted Master’s seed—he knew, now more than ever, that the boy had what it takes.
It had not been that lengthy since Apprentice Monroe's disciplinary rituals at the palms of Grandmaster Wolf. The Apprentice had been spread and manhandled beyond measure, but not with cruelty. There had been a good hollowing out of him, yes, but that which was eliminated from him was doubt, and worry. In its place, directly administered into his assets thru The Order's orgasmic rituals, Apprentice Monroe had found his calling. He found a purpose. Which brought him to that evening's invitation. Sir Figata, dressed in a milky suit with a crisp milky button down and tie, led the boy with his large, stony palms into a guest room for what was pronounced as his "ordination." The guest room was white, bright, pristine with otherworldly energy, as if it had been plucked from a distant, prior century. There was a temple daybed, sparse furniture, and a couch. Sir Figata sat down, and brought the boy with. The Sir perved at the boy with a rigid gaze, eyes glinting with confidence. "You know why you're here, right?" It had been sometime since this Apprentice had last seen Sir Figata. The Sir was the one who called him into the quiet, air conditioned hiss of the office. There, Sir Figata had grilled the youthfull apprentice as to whether or not he was attracted to men. It felt ditzy to have denied the question then—doubly so now, here in the guest room of ordination, where he gave a highly different answer. "Yes," Monroe was happy to sit on the couch, feeble in the knees by being just in the presence of one of The Order’s masters. Sir Figata could feel the difference in the boy's energy, the difference in his awareness of what his aim was—both within The Order and outside it. He unclothed the boy of his tie, then shirt, then trousers. Slowly, with the sanctity it deserves, Sir Figata disrobed the apprentice down to just a shred of garment. The boy's increasing in size swelling was briefly free-for-all of all constraints. free-for-all to obey its Master. Monroe had not been with many men, only those within The Order, really, but each of those moments was off the hook to him, and charged with revelation. Since The Order had reached out, this was the first-ever time he got to revisit a Sir from his prior stage of calling, a time so lengthy ago now that he was sure he had become a different person. Electrical he was by this, when Sir Figata did unclothe down to his own undergarments, the boy could slightly keep himself from submerging his face into his Master's nether regions. There was no need to rush—Master Figata's strong capture slowed the boy, and brought his snuffles to an subordinated pace. At first, the taste of the Sir was sweet, and not totally unfamiliar. A taste he could place as one of desire, of love, of yearning. But as the Master's odor pounded the boy's nostrils that succulent taste transformed into something far more arousing. He deep-throated and gagged on Master's hefty cock, a concoction of slobber and precum cascading down his chin, until Figata was sated with his boy's finesse. Sir Figata guided Apprentice Monroe to lie throughout the couch. Securing the boy's thighs in his metal grip, the Sir drove his tongue deep inwards that youthfull ass. He ate him rigid and fast, then pulled back for a moment to sight the boy in the eyes, with an expression of triumph in his face. The Apprentice was yielding, like butter, and had come so far along in his journey. With the same tool that spread Monroe's jaw to its limit, Sir Figata brought his cockhead to the boy's entrance. With one rock hard stroke, he was sunk to the root inwards the boy's taut ass. Sir started thrusting slowly, the experiencing of his huge tool boning in and out of the boy's crevice making them both yell in unison. His balls spanked against the youthfull man’s butt cheeks each time the Sir entirely tucked inside. The tempo quickened, orchestrated as much by their own passions as by the will of The Order witnessing over them. The spirit of The Brotherhood welled up within them both. They were a blur of thrusts, Apprentice and Sir completely in sync with each other. Their bods distorted plump the leather couch until they ended up, hardon-to-hardon, frotting insanely against each other, their munches lost in combat. Eventually, Sir Figata blasted his seed, first-ever on his stomach, and then onto the couch underneath them. When they had caught their breath, they shared a kiss. When Sir Figata first-ever took Apprentice Monroe under his wing, he had not been sure how lengthy the boy would last—either physically, or mentally. This accomplished Sir desired all that The Order had to suggest this worthy apprentice. He ordained the boy's forehead and crevice with the spurts of his exalted Master’s seed—he knew, now more than ever, that the boy had what it takes.
Added: 2024-04-09 • Views: 18 • Duration: 25:35
