scrappy coco

She swallowed in preparation and stuck her tongue out and touched it against his sack. Much like the coffee she had this morning, the taste was as strong as the smell, though she would drink this flavour every morning if she could. Salty, smoky, and musky like her dad. She poked her tongue out again and gave it a slightly longer lick on the left nut, and then a longer one on the right. It didn’t take long until she was fondling her father’s balls with her whole tongue. Bathing them in her saliva. Lifting one ball up and down with tongue, she caressed underneath and pulled it closer to her mouth. With how hot her breath and drool were, the skin had softened even more, and she was able to bring one of his balls into her mouth. Her lips clamped down around it, not willing to let it escape. Her tongue swirled around her captive, and she sucked on his nut like a lollipop.

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.

He pushed against the seal, using his mana to separate from his clone, but it was like he was buried in concrete. He couldn’t project his mana even a centimeter beyond his skin. It was even more difficult than performing his workout, but this was precisely what he wanted. Saimallah said that he and his fellow monks used these headbands to train their projection abilities, and there was no better way than this. As he struggled and strained, the seal began to give, ever so slightly, feeling less like concrete and more like rubber.