There is no such thing. Unless you are having me kneel before a more worthy altar.
Come to me.
Then I am on my knees, quite comfortable and almost contrite for my mouthiness, where I put my lips to better use than blaspheming the altar so many respect.
I’d rather my tongue be put to service in praising your seed, my body craving your hand on my head, your hand on my cheek, guiding me to the base and the tip and the base and the tip, swirling.
Let my laughter escape, entertain you, bring you joy while worshiping your delicious shaft and my eyes look you full in the face, and I greedily accept your thrusts to the back of my throat and swallow again and again with gasps of pleasure and desire for more of the same.
He looked forward to having her on her knees before him and feeding her his own version of the bread and the wine.