Robert spreads his fingers, reaching in, grabbing hold of your hair, a fist forming, dominant and strong, and he pulls your head to face him, his smile deep, rich, warm and wanting, “Ready?” he offers, with a huge, naughty and mischievous smile, his cock throbbing in his hand.

Aragorn slips away from within you, his manhood exhausted. He climbs down off the bed and sets about untying the four bindings, while Robert refuses to take his gaze away from your eyes, fixing you to him, forcing you to ignore or question Aragorn’s intentions.

Once free, Robert guides you to all fours, his confident hands shaping you to his will, until you’re facing out across the room to where Dante, Minerva and Angelica are seated, watching you, their eyes bright with the debauched pleasure they’re orchestrating.

And with the hot cum of Aragorn’s orgasm still echoing inside you, you shudder with delight as Robert presses his massive cock, to rub and nudge against you from behind.

Dante raises his hand, and his gesture brings everyone to a halt. You’re poised, on all fours and facing him with Robert behind you, motionless, his swollen cock ready and nudging against you. Aragorn standing to one side, with the shredded remains of your dress, the untied restraints, in his hand.

Dante approaches, carefully offering his open right hand; and you see he has something wrapped in a black velvet cloth. He turns to look back over his shoulder, back toward Minerva, knowing it is her mind controlling Robert.

The expression on Minerva’s strikingly beautiful face shifts from seemingly satisfied to revealing a far darker secret, a hornier desire, and she licks at her lips as she nods, signalling her approval and anticipation.

Her eyes close as she focuses and projects her control, Robert now extends his free hand, while his other grips a firm wedge of your thick mane, and as he reaches forward, extending his reach over your shoulder, you watch him slowly peeling open the black velvet cloth covered offering, each fold falling open like the petals of a Gothic lotus lily.

Dante turns his attention back to you, his full face mask concealing who he might be, but he’s close enough now that you can make out the details of his eyes, burnt hazel, cocoa dark, and brutally brown.

Your gaze interlocks with his, your pupils pulsing, dilating, opening wide then closing to a narrow. And while the mask denies you a reading of his face, you know the connection of this moment.

How the room has frozen, time standing still, where in this exchange of energy, invisible chords of light come threading between your eyes and his, and you feel convinced you are connected to the one and only soul who lives inside the same secret dominion as you.

No longer feeling alone, Dante breaks away, glancing down toward the open black velvet cloth, and your eyes cannot help but follow him.

You see a perfectly smooth and rounded shape, with a tighter taper at one end and a stubby, cylindrical stem, at the other. An inch or so wide at the middle and a couple inches or so long.

At the stemmed end, seated on a round, button sized, solid silver cap, sits a dome of burnished bronze, sculpted in the form of a round skull, with a smooth rounded ring running through its mouth.