And now, round and round go the hips of that one, reaming both pussies as the one on the bottom rolls her tongue round and round on the clit of the one on her face as the one on top rims her thoroughly, her tongue fucking her ass hole.

And one looking on from the foot of the bed could clearly see the insertion of the thick rubber monster into the two pussies.

Because now it is shiny and wet with their clear, hot pussy juices.

As the one on top rolls her broad hips, faster and faster.

Sex and ceremony, it is.

Heroines and villainesses all in one, they are.

As they gratify one another in the costumes in which they have performed great deeds in secrecy, in darkness against the forces of that darkness.

Or rather, the force.

Who is present in malevolent spirit, even now.

Who is here, with them and against them.

Who has caused them to assemble thus. Who is the occasion of this, their war dance of passion, before they sally forth against him and his works.

Three large, powerful women, three women of courage.

Who know that courage must be tempered with caution and precaution.

Who know that daring must be measured, balanced with safety.

So that this will be, perhaps, their last occasion of undiminished, of total abandon.

Because the enemy, though present in spirit, is separated from them right now.

He cannot know (but can certainly suspect) that they are gathering their forces against him.

Four times they have thwarted him.

The Castle, the poisoning, the Brotherhood, the abduction.

Four tries, four defeats.

But to defeat Randy Buck's plans is not to defeat Randy Buck.

He has made that clear to them, with his warped mind no doubt "clear" to himself.

Never ready for them, as events prove, always waiting for them, as events have also demonstrated, he is.