Milking the Witch.
Burning! burning high, upon her altar,
Stoking blazing beacons for the broken,
She weaves andsacan magic
Deep into the folds of her jet-black cloak.
Adorned with rough head-dress of oak mystically warped,
Spiked rosewood hoops hang around her neck,
piercing and scarring her pale, waxy skin.
She unveils her breasts, brimming with temptation,
for her frantic followers to suckle deep.
Suckle until their senses numb.
Numb out their long empty hours.
Numb them into slumber at her clawed feet
when she will take them slowly, as Succubus.
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