Tarro fairly melts.

Well that's lovely.

He breaks the kiss and drags Tarro's head down, forcing him to his knees.

Tarro takes Maran's cock in his mouth with a half-choked moan.

These two are just amazing. Serik watches them, idly playing with the iron rod, twisting it and pushing it deeper.

This gets some agonized noises out of Luar.

Maran pushes Tarro away, grabs the iron rod, and yanks it out. A few charred fragments of Luar come with it.

He stands there for a moment, staring at the glorious mess he's made, and then he tosses the now-cooled iron away and starts fucking her again.

She weeps helplessly. Her struggles get weaker and weaker until she finally stops trying.

"Do you want to take her next," he murmurs to Serik.

"Love to," he says, combing his fingers affectionately through Tarro's hair.

Maran finishes again and stands back.

Serik steps up to replace him.

"You'll want to do her eyes again about now," he murmurs.

Maran walks over to the other end of the padded box. He grabs a fistful of Luar's hair to hold her head still, and he applies his magic to her eyes a second time. Fresh blood trickes down her beautiful face.

She shudders.

He runs a hand over her back, feeling the depth of the cuts. Under all the blood, they're nearly healed.

He smiles.

Tarro fetches the long-tailed whip and hands it to Maran.

Serik fucks Luar roughly, feeling the cuts in her back slowly closing under his hands. It's lovely. This was such a good idea.

When Serik finishes, Tarro takes his turn.

He wishes these girls didn't have to suffer, but there's something undeniably beautiful about it. The blood, the way she flinches and shivers...

And when Tarro finishes, Maran is waiting.

There's no need to hold back, so he doesn't. He whips her viciously, until her newly healed skin splits and tears and bleeds, until her back and thighs are a solid mass of welts. Ribs crack under his furious assault. Drops of blood fly from the tail of the whip as it slashes through the air.

Luar doesn't scream this time, but she cries, short sharp breathless sobs almost lost under the sound of the whip striking her back.

Eventually, he stops.

He stands by her head, wraps the blood-slick whip around her throat, and pulls it tight, twisting the ends together so he can hold both in one hand.

When he moves back to stand behind her again, it tightens further. And when he starts fucking her, he yanks back on it, pulling hard enough that the thick braided leather digs harshly into her neck.

She can't breathe, can't make a sound. Her face turns red, then purple. She shudders, struggles fruitlessly, and finally goes limp.

He rapes her, violently and relentlessly, long past the point when any mortal woman would be dead. But she isn't. She is wonderfully, deliciously alive, warm and bleeding, her much-abused cunt hot and tight around his cock.

This time, when he finishes, he lets go of the whip and staggers to the nearest couch to flop onto it in utter exhaustion.

Tarro unwinds the whip from around her throat. It takes some effort to separate it from the deep marks it left.