Mi afortunado novio se corre dentro de mi estrecho coño todos los días (recopilación de creampies)

“You carried it,” Verena whispered, touching her brow with a trembling hand. No tools. Cold. She had prepared the core, anointed it, warmed it with sacred oils to ease the passage. Just a kneeling woman, lit by a single beam of light, her hands on her belly, eyes raised in prayer. The weight seated fully. When a captured Astartes — Brother-Sergeant Caelen — was discovered deep behind enemy lines, a desperate plan was devised. They beat her. “You carried it, child.”

Roxy said nothing. Still sealed.”

He said nothing. Her legs shaked. Laughed. Roxy screamed. Laughed. They never suspected that deep within her, past layers of bruised and trembling muscle, pulsed the one thing that could awaken a Space Marine’s broken armor and turn him into a weapon again. But in a galaxy that grinds even saints to dust, her greatest act of service would come not from battle — but from surrender. Roxy sobbed around the belt. “I am ready to die,” she whispered, the belt falling from her mouth. Her will flickered — but never failed. This tale does not seek comfort or triumph.