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Kneeling before the altar of flesh, the worshipper begins his ritual. His hands, trembling with reverence, grasp the steely shaft, feeling the pulse of life beneath the velvet skin. He leans in, his breath warm as he whispers prayers of devotion. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salty pre-cum, a communion of sorts. He takes the head into his mouth, his lips stretching to accommodate the girth, his tongue swirling in reverence. He slides down, inch by inch, until he feels the cock hit the back of his throat, his nose buried in the soft, trimmed hair. He pulls back, gasping, before diving in again, his head bobbing in a rhythm as old as time itself.