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Summary
Ragnar takes great pleasure in making Athelstan break his vows with the help of a little mead.
Ragnar growls and presses deeper, swiping a rough thumb over the head of Athelstan’s cock. He does not care to what kind of wretched god the monk prays, but here in his house, with his cock up his arse, Ragnar’s name will be the only prayer he knows.
