In a dimly lit chamber, Elder Xanders, his voice trembling with anticipation, is secured to a wooden cross. Bishop Angus and President Oaks, their eyes gleaming with forbidden lust, approach, their robes billowing like dark clouds. Austin Young, a nervous but eager participant, looks on as the elders worship Xanders' body with their tongues and teeth, leaving trails of saliva and bites that mark his skin. The air is thick with the aroma of sweat and the faint hint of incense, as the men's moans fill the space, punctuated by the occasional creak of the cross.