Only the strictest discipline – the total commitment of these most utterly debased and dedicated of slaves – kept their performance as flawless as it was impassioned. Bare feet moved surely, lithe hips swayed, and soft arms passed elegantly through the air, telling their ancient tale of Hardcore love and death. The afternoon sun slanted through stained glass to strike subtle glints from the polished rings and chains in their skins and the shining blades in their little fists. Carissa was enchanted by the spectacle. “I have seen this piece many times” Dmitri mused, examining his fingernails casually. “These women are trained dancers and have been rehearsing for weeks while we made space for them in our meat safe, like so many others before them”. He looked down, and Carissa followed his gaze to the long bulge in the fabric of his silk pyjamas. “I will fuck the corpse of the most accomplished and perhaps have the others feed me her cooked flesh while they await their own turn on the spit. Women throw their lives at me. In Hastur’s name, I am becoming bored!” and he ground out his cheroot while the three dancers turned and stepped before him, hearing his words and each of them aching to be the headless body he would ravage when the song was played out. Carissa ran the words through her head three times before she trusted herself to speak, “You are an artist, Dmitri” she declared in a quiet voice. “You have honoured me with a part in your work, and I live for it”. Dmitri ruffled her hair and she turned her besotted gaze to him. “You are right to reproach me” he said, silencing her protest with a wave of his hand. “I am fortunate in my meat, and it behoves me to remember that.” The dancers twirled in unison before japan them and then began to stamp their bejewelled feet in a delicate counter to the insistent rhythm of the drums. Their ringlets bounced around them and their breasts swayed; bare arms snaked to and fro sinuously. Dmitri watched them for a while in silence then turned back to Carissa. “They are competing to be chosen as victim – dancing for their deaths”. He sighed. “I am seized with an ennui and I will not make the decision. You must do that”. She regarded him with a look of dismay and his tone became sterner. “This is the rule of your order” he told her. “It is your destiny to live and serve, envying the sweet fate of the meat. Accept this”. Carissa’s face showed her despair at his words. “My love” she stammered, her lip quivering, “I deserve nothing – I am nothing. Test me, I beg you”. Tears started at the corners of her eyes. He looked away. “Choose” he commanded. “I will need your decision when they finish”. The dance proceeded faultlessly, although the women must have heard everything, and Carissa soon found herself appreciating their artistry and skill for its own sake, forgetting the bizarre burden placed upon her. Each young woman was a remarkable beauty in her own way; two of them were raven-haired and olive-skinned daughters of the mountains, one with the aquiline nose of the highlands and the other, more full-figured girl with the deep blue eyes of the original Svitavians. The third dancer was an oriental girl whose fine, black hair brushed over her tiny breasts and delicate shoulders when she span around, dipping and bowing according to the ancient patterns of the dance. Suddenly, Carissa found herself picturing this girl screaming in the grip of her death spasm and realised that her choice had been made. She watched the rest of the dance with mounting excitement. The sun was setting behind the hills above the bizarre convent, the swirling shashkas glinted red and orange while the girls turned and twisted, and the music wove its spell. The drums beat faster and faster as the strings built a crescendo; masturbation the three girls fell to their knees before Dmitri with their slim bodies arched from the floor towards him, their arms flung back, japanese and their legs spread in surrender. The climactic chord was sustained while three trembling forms waited in an agony of expectation, and Dmitri turned his huge, shaggy head to Carissa with a questioning look. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and responded. Yes, up mine. I tried them japanese on, they japan were a bit tight but they’d do. She pull him by his cock over to the bed where she laid on the edge and guided his cock in to her pussy. The top few inches poked above the waistband. Early in the morning, around 8am, my Mom and I reached our house masturbation My