Masque Macabre

Despite the shock of the vision of both the Schlange and the satyr, not to mention the inability of his Nordic bodyguards either to protect him or voice any sort of warning of attack, the prince’s quick reflexes were impressive. He slurped out of the Nubian and bounded for the open French window.

The Schlange was quicker. He turned and his cock appendage shot out across the room and wound itself around the prince’s waist. Vincenti had reached the window, though, and he was gripping the frame, keeping himself from being drawn to the monster.

The satyr had fallen on the bound and helpless Nubian, who was very much conscious again and crying out at and writhing as best he could against the thick, curved cock the satyr was thrusting inside his barely used channel. The satyr quickly jerked away the ropes binding the Nubian. He wanted to play; he wanted the Nubian to struggle against him. They tumbled off the far side of the bed, and the Nubian pulled himself up onto the bed on his belly, his little fists gripping the silk of the bed cover in big bunches. The face of a sneering satyr, long, pointed tongue gliding up the back of the Nubian appeared above him. Long strong arms flowed along the Nubian’s arms and satyr fists closed over Nubian wrists. The Nubian’s mouth opened in a silent, breathless scream, as the satyr’s cock head found purchase at his channel opening again and thrust home. The Nubian shuddered and his little chest bounced up and down on the coverlet, as the satyr began the pumping rhythm of his fuck.