The sound that rolled out from the pleasure house was not a moan, nor a scream... it was a choral cry of ecstasy, so pure and radiant it might've been mistaken for the song of angels.
Inside, the Saint Sister straddled Pip, her face tilted toward the heavens, golden hair a tangled crown of rapture, tears streaming down her cheeks as Pip worked his magical hips. Her body trembled with every ripple of pleasure coursing through her.
Outside, the courtyard had become a gathering ground.
Monks in flowing white robes, robed cultists with glowing tattoos, even a few confused townsfolk had formed a massive semicircle facing the house. They chanted his name… "Praise the Divine One!" Clapping hands and singing hymns composed over the last few days by his rapidly growing following.
