Round 10 Transcript

Jeane straightened her leather vest and smoothed down her skirt, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features as she surveyed the chaos. The church was meant to be their sanctuary, not a crime scene waiting to happen. She moved to help Silra with the scattered toys, her wings twitching in irritation. We need to move faster than this if we want to avoid suspicion, Jeane said, her voice cool and controlled despite the lingering soreness between her thighs. She grabbed a handful of dildos and vibrators, shoving them into an empty duffel bag with practiced efficiency. Halie, check the altar for any traces of our activities. Silra, you take the windows—make sure there's no visible damage or fluids. Her gaze swept over the group, assessing their capabilities. Abby, Hera, start moving those pews back into place. We need this space looking as innocent as possible before anyone walks in.

She moved to the main entrance, peering out through a crack in the doorframe. The sounds of hammering and voices grew closer, punctuated by the rumble of construction equipment. A knot of tension formed between her shoulder blades—a reminder that their little haven was precariously balanced between pleasure and exposure. We have maybe five minutes before they break in, Jeane called back over her shoulder. Everyone stay focused. This is why we practice—maintaining control in chaos. She turned back to the task at hand, her mind already working on contingency plans should their cleanup fail.

I hurry over to Silra, my steps unsteady as I navigate the debris-strewn floor. "Let me help," I say breathlessly, bending down to gather scattered candles and empty wine bottles. The exertion makes my muscles scream in protest, but I push through it, adrenaline overriding the soreness. As we work, I steal glances at Jeane, trying to gauge her mood. She's usually so composed, but there's an edge to her movements now, a tension in her shoulders that wasn't there before. "What do we do if someone comes in?" I ask quietly, my voice barely audible over the clinking of glass and rustling of fabric. Silra shoots me a sharp look, her fingers never stopping their frantic tidying. "Improvise," she hisses under her breath. "Same as always."

Silra moved with a rogue's precision through the wreckage, her lithe form bending and reaching to gather every last trace of their debauchery. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air, cloying and obvious to anyone with half-decent senses. Right then, love birds. Time for damage control before this whole operation goes tits up. She caught Jeane's eye, a silent communication passing between them—trust me, I've done worse cleanups after Cromwell parties. Hera, you look like you're about to fall over. Grab some of those bigger toys and stack 'em by the side door. We'll dump them later in that construction site down the way. Her pointed ears twitched at approaching voices outside; city workers, probably, come to start their day early. Hear that? Time's up. Anyone who walks in here needs to see a normal church service, not an orgy aftermath. Jeane, can you do something about this mess of bodily fluids on the floor? Without waiting for an answer, Silra pulled her lockpicking tools from inside her jacket and started working on the small cabinet behind the altar—a place to stash their more incriminating items until they could move them properly.