As Robert and Aragorn turn to move away, you see the breadth of their backs, the taut of their prime waistlines, their thick hair hanging over their strong shoulders, the lean musculature of their smooth tight bare buttocks.

Reaching the foot of the bed, each of them leans forward, their hands taking you by the ankle, and from where they stretch you out and tie you again.

Looking down the length of your body, over to where Dante sits, voyeur and puppet master to these proceeding, and where you can see the pleasure in his eyes, revealed behind his mask.

He has a perfect view of you, and like you, he’s growing warmer with wondering how the twin demons of Minerva and Angelica plan to direct their marionette-men.

Every fiber of your being wants to participate, but an invisible constriction grips and binds you tight. Your mouth and hands, arms, feet and legs, all want to be free, but Dante denies you that pleasure, for now at least.

A flush of fresh arousal rushes through your veins, seduced as you are, restrained, only your senses and imagination free to conjure images of curious fantasy and sexual bewilderment.

Colors whirl within your mind as the eyes of these three men soak into you, Dante watching from the couch as now Aragorn climbs up onto the bed to your right side, while Robert positions himself to your left.

Together, they begin running their strong hands over your curves, caressing, and kneading your naked flesh, taking their time to survey the undulation of your beauty, with total pleasure and appreciation.

Aragorn floods you with waves of desire, the aura of his inner light pouring out from behind his eyes, while his fingertips circle your breasts and trace their outline as if committing their contours to his memory.

You wriggle against the tightness of your bindings, unable to free yourself and powerless to contribute, you complain with soft moans of pleasure, feeling the pertness in your breasts, tingling as they swell, filling firmer with the warmth of Aragorn’s desire drenching you, the magnificence of your dark, hard, nipples already fully erect, full and proud.

Aragorn begins to honorably tongue and suckle at your beautiful, youthful breasts, alternating from one to the other, exhausting then regaining his heated passion with each seduction. And as he draws more of you with his mouth you groan with the giving, consumed beneath his heavenly feeding.

You wish you could free your hand, grab his mane, and guide his animal desire, but you’re helplessly restrained, unable to offer more than moans of satisfaction, as his mouth works back and forth, undulating between rough and restless, then patient and tender, each breast swelling more swollen.

From below, Robert is kissing at the tender tops of your thighs, your legs already open, each ankle bound to the corner of the bed by the shredded rags of your ruined black dress.

His kisses trespass, pressing their own private path, his tongue tracing tiny footsteps, running up to brush the lush lips of your labia. And you groan louder as the duplicity of these two mouths conspire to caress you in tandem, Aragorn French kissing at your breasts, Robert feasting at the cusp of your cunt.

Robert’s fingers slip beneath his chin to probe the silky slick juices that pour through you. His movement exquisite, he’s hunting for your clitoris which is swelling beneath her little hood and crying like never before.

Arcs of electrical charges ignite, bright lights of magnetic energy surging through you, then subsiding, as after an eternity of attention these two men rest momentarily.

You sense Dante’s approval, his eyes watching you, relishing the sight of you conceding your submission. Dominated by these two men, their physiques and actions controlled by the angels at his side.

The energy intensifies, the men resume, they begin teasing you with their hands, their kissing lips and heavy cocks. Their attention re-awoken, slowly travelling along the sides of your legs, your hips, waist, and breasts.

Planting their kisses, their hands confidently caressing, while carelessly letting the swollen weight of their manhood rub and brush against you, daring to leave the tiniest trails of pre-cum glistening on your skin.