Masonic Fellows - Apprentice Maxx Monroe Chapter 4
Download HD Video (1.5 GB)
It had not been that lengthy since Apprentice Monroe's disciplinary rituals at the arms of Grandmaster Wolf. The Apprentice had been opened up and abused beyond measure, but not with cruelty. There had been a excellent hollowing out of him, yes, but that which was eliminated from him was doubt, and worry. In its place, directly administered into his bod through The Order's orgasmic rituals, Apprentice Monroe had found his calling. He found a purpose. Which brought him to that evening's invitation. Tormentor Figata, dressed in a white suit with a crisp white button down and tie, led the guy with his large, stony arms 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, previous century. There was a temple daybed, sparse furniture, and a couch. Tormentor Figata sat down, and brought the guy with. The Tormentor gawped at the guy with a stiff gaze, eyes glinting with confidence. "You know why you're here, right?" It had been sometime since this Apprentice had last seen Tormentor Figata. The Tormentor was the one who called him into the quiet, air conditioned hiss of the office. There, Tormentor Figata had grilled the youthful apprentice as to whether or not he was attracted to men. It sensed doofy 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 glad to sit on the couch, powerless in the knees by being just in the presence of one of The Order’s masters. Tormentor Figata could sense 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 stripped the guy of his tie, then shirt, then trousers. Slowly, with the sanctity it deserves, Tormentor Figata stripped the apprentice down to just a shred of garment. The boy's getting bigger bulge was soon 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 sensational to him, and charged with revelation. Since The Order had reached out, this was the first-ever time he got to revisit a Tormentor from his previous 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 Tormentor Figata did unwrap down to his own undergarments, the guy could hardly keep himself from drowning his face into his Master's nether regions. There was no need to rush—Master Figata's strenuous grip slowed the boy, and brought his sniffs to an submissive pace. At first, the taste of the Tormentor was sweet, and not entirely unfamiliar. A taste he could place as one of desire, of love, of yearning. But as the Master's odor plumbed the boy's nostrils that fleshy taste transformed into something far more arousing. He sucked and gagged on Master's gigantic cock, a combo of spit and precum dripping down his chin, until Figata was satiated with his boy's finesse. Tormentor Figata guided Apprentice Monroe to lie throughout the couch. Securing the boy's hips in his metal grip, the Tormentor drove his tongue deep inwards that youthful ass. He ate him stiff and fast, then pulled back for a moment to sight the guy in the eyes, with an expression of exult in his face. The Apprentice was yielding, like butter, and had come so far along in his journey. With the same instrument that opened up Monroe's jaw to its limit, Tormentor Figata brought his cockhead to the boy's entrance. With one rigid stroke, he was submerged to the root inwards the boy's tight ass. Tormentor began pushing slowly, the sensing of his meaty instrument humping in and out of the boy's fuck-hole making them both moan in unison. His nads smacked against the youthful man’s culo cheeks each time the Tormentor totally tucked inside. The tempo quickened, orchestrated as much by their own passions as by the will of The Order eyeing over them. The spirit of The welled up within them both. They were a blur of thrusts, Apprentice and Tormentor entirely in sync with each other. Their bods contorted round the leather couch until they completed up, hardon-to-hardon, cock rub frantically against each other, their gobbles lost in combat. Eventually, Tormentor Figata spilled his seed, first-ever on his stomach, and then onto the couch underneath them. When they had caught their breath, they collective a kiss. When Tormentor Figata first-ever took Apprentice Monroe under his wing, he had not been sure how lengthy the guy would last—either physically, or mentally. This experienced Tormentor wished all that The Order had to suggest this worthy apprentice. He ordained the boy's forehead and fuck-hole with the spurts of his exalted Master’s seed—he knew, now more than ever, that the guy had what it takes.
It had not been that lengthy since Apprentice Monroe's disciplinary rituals at the arms of Grandmaster Wolf. The Apprentice had been opened up and abused beyond measure, but not with cruelty. There had been a excellent hollowing out of him, yes, but that which was eliminated from him was doubt, and worry. In its place, directly administered into his bod through The Order's orgasmic rituals, Apprentice Monroe had found his calling. He found a purpose. Which brought him to that evening's invitation. Tormentor Figata, dressed in a white suit with a crisp white button down and tie, led the guy with his large, stony arms 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, previous century. There was a temple daybed, sparse furniture, and a couch. Tormentor Figata sat down, and brought the guy with. The Tormentor gawped at the guy with a stiff gaze, eyes glinting with confidence. "You know why you're here, right?" It had been sometime since this Apprentice had last seen Tormentor Figata. The Tormentor was the one who called him into the quiet, air conditioned hiss of the office. There, Tormentor Figata had grilled the youthful apprentice as to whether or not he was attracted to men. It sensed doofy 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 glad to sit on the couch, powerless in the knees by being just in the presence of one of The Order’s masters. Tormentor Figata could sense 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 stripped the guy of his tie, then shirt, then trousers. Slowly, with the sanctity it deserves, Tormentor Figata stripped the apprentice down to just a shred of garment. The boy's getting bigger bulge was soon 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 sensational to him, and charged with revelation. Since The Order had reached out, this was the first-ever time he got to revisit a Tormentor from his previous 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 Tormentor Figata did unwrap down to his own undergarments, the guy could hardly keep himself from drowning his face into his Master's nether regions. There was no need to rush—Master Figata's strenuous grip slowed the boy, and brought his sniffs to an submissive pace. At first, the taste of the Tormentor was sweet, and not entirely unfamiliar. A taste he could place as one of desire, of love, of yearning. But as the Master's odor plumbed the boy's nostrils that fleshy taste transformed into something far more arousing. He sucked and gagged on Master's gigantic cock, a combo of spit and precum dripping down his chin, until Figata was satiated with his boy's finesse. Tormentor Figata guided Apprentice Monroe to lie throughout the couch. Securing the boy's hips in his metal grip, the Tormentor drove his tongue deep inwards that youthful ass. He ate him stiff and fast, then pulled back for a moment to sight the guy in the eyes, with an expression of exult in his face. The Apprentice was yielding, like butter, and had come so far along in his journey. With the same instrument that opened up Monroe's jaw to its limit, Tormentor Figata brought his cockhead to the boy's entrance. With one rigid stroke, he was submerged to the root inwards the boy's tight ass. Tormentor began pushing slowly, the sensing of his meaty instrument humping in and out of the boy's fuck-hole making them both moan in unison. His nads smacked against the youthful man’s culo cheeks each time the Tormentor totally tucked inside. The tempo quickened, orchestrated as much by their own passions as by the will of The Order eyeing over them. The spirit of The welled up within them both. They were a blur of thrusts, Apprentice and Tormentor entirely in sync with each other. Their bods contorted round the leather couch until they completed up, hardon-to-hardon, cock rub frantically against each other, their gobbles lost in combat. Eventually, Tormentor Figata spilled his seed, first-ever on his stomach, and then onto the couch underneath them. When they had caught their breath, they collective a kiss. When Tormentor Figata first-ever took Apprentice Monroe under his wing, he had not been sure how lengthy the guy would last—either physically, or mentally. This experienced Tormentor wished all that The Order had to suggest this worthy apprentice. He ordained the boy's forehead and fuck-hole with the spurts of his exalted Master’s seed—he knew, now more than ever, that the guy had what it takes.
Added: 2023-01-13 • Views: 36 • Duration: 25:35
