The torches flickered lightly on the walls of the throne room. The shadows played across the walls, heaving masses of indistinguishable flesh. Much as the light, so too was the silence. The muted volume cascaded a near perfect silence. The only thing that dared break the silence were the occasional slurp, the near perfect rhythm of adoration. It went on like this for some time until a new sound met the rhythm in its ministrations, a light moan. Each and every so often the slurping would elicit another moan. The moan, in turn, would encourage. The sounds, once light and airy, intensified, devolving slowly into a guttural hunger.
Maia was especially attentive today, the Queen noticed. The young, redheaded, girl was attending to her ministrations with increasing vigor. From her perch on the throne, the Witch Queen watched the heaving of her servant’s perfect throne. Her long hair cascaded down her neck and across her back, every so often bouncing juicily as she moved her head. If it weren’t for her hair, the Witch Queen would have found herself inexplicably drawn to the black obsidian collar around Maia’s neck. The way it framed her lithe body and the power it had over the girl was absolutely intoxicating. It was like watching a woman on fire, her passion undeniable as she knelt between her goddesses legs and proved her devotion. Another moan escaped the Queen’s lips, forced out by the tongue of a redheaded vixen as she seized upon her goddess’ precious nub. Oh, it was good to be the goddess.