The dimmed lamps, deliberately shrouded in a hazy red glow, enveloped the living room of the secluded villa in a blanket of sultry light, far removed from the oblivious clamor of the nearby settlement. The air hung heavy, thick with the soft, elongated erotic moans of dozens of women—raw, primal lust echoing like the whispers of demons tempting the soul.
Each sharp crack of leather whipping against bare flesh was met with a gasp of pain mingled with profound pleasure, "Ahh... harder!"—a voice breaking, trembling with unbridled desire. Breaths came in ragged, animalistic pants, blending with the slick, wet friction: *slurp... schlick... schlick*—the damp vibrations of tongues lapping at swollen clits, fingers plunging into writhing wet holes, or thick strap-ons slamming into plump asses with savage rhythm. It all fused into an intoxicating erotic symphony, the air sticky with the salty tang of sweat, the sweet musk of pussy juices, and the mingled scents of expensive perfume and wild, feral sex.
At the heart of the chaos stood A-list actresses from around the world, their flawless bodies once gracing the silver screen; global superstars idolized by millions; mega-famous female influencers with followers starving for their smiles; successful businesswomen owning multinational empires worth hundreds of millions to billions of dollars—their designer-clad forms now stripped utterly naked, drenched in sweat and cunt nectar. High-ranking female officials whose power shook nations, the smiling wives of top politicians on red carpets, and the elegant spouses of influential tycoons at elite gala dinners. All these world-class figures gathered in one vast room, its walls reverberating with uncontrollable orgasmic screams.
Not for polite chit-chat or cold networking. No—they united in the most depraved, forbidden desires, shedding all ethics, shame, and masks of purity. Voluptuous bodies collided mercilessly: massive tits squeezed until they bruised red, hard nipples bitten until they trickled thin blood, round asses whipped into hot red welts, and dripping wet cunts penetrated by massive toys or ravenous tongues. Like wild beasts thirsting for blood and cum, every woman unleashed her deepest cravings and bizarre fetishes impossible to fulfill in the outside world—from hot piss sprayed onto faces amid naughty laughter, BDSM bonds that made bodies writhe in sweet agony, to taboo roleplay where a CEO commanded her subordinate to lick her heels while crawling on all fours.
Behind their public images of high-class elegance—captivating millions with prestige, unassailable status, or influence commanding the global economy—lurked this dark side: women craving domination, total surrender, and rough pleasure that set their hips bucking endlessly.
This wicked secret had flowed flawlessly, without a single external flaw, for years, thanks to the iron fist of the supreme dominatrix and eternal queen.
That queen was Beatrice Grimfrost von Heliosbane, Raiden's third older sister. Lounging casually on her custom throne carved from glossy black wood and upholstered in blood-red velvet, she surveyed the erotic spectacle before her with icy blue eyes brimming with power—a faint smile curling her red lips as a famous actress cried out, her body convulsing in a squirting orgasm that soaked the marble floor. Flanking her were two mysterious women with long, flowing black hair like midnight silk, their faces completely veiled by glossy black latex masks, leaving only sharp-eyed slits and sensual lips exposed. They wore skin-tight black latex outfits hugging every perfect curve—full breasts thrusting forward, slim waists, round asses teasing beneath long black coats that swept the floor. Their bodies moved like loyal shadows, gloved hands ready to grasp whips or any toy for their master's pleasure.
These two women were Beatrice's devoted subordinates and personal bodyguards, who had pledged their entire souls and bodies—even their orgasms—solely to her well-being and ecstasy.
Typically, young and mature beauties of stunning allure and extraordinary talent—handpicked from harsh backgrounds like orphanages or remote villages—were rigorously selected as pleasure objects for these elite women. Their fresh, obedient bodies: smooth skin prickling at a touch, soft lips sucking greedily, tight holes clenching perfectly.
Though called objects, they lived in absolute luxury—private air-conditioned suites, gourmet meals, designer clothes—and were never forced into anything against their deepest desires. Instead of brute violence or harsh oppression, Beatrice employed subtle erotic indoctrination: gentle hypnosis sessions laced with caresses, sweet whispers during orgasms, and nightly rituals teaching total surrender, so true loyalty and devotion blossomed from within their own souls.
Most of these elite women weren't pure lesbians—many still fucked their husbands in their lavish homes—but the relentless habit reinforced at these parties transformed them into ravenous bisexuals: hips bucking wildly as they fucked other women, lips craving the taste of pussy, especially for the married ones, where this dark affair spiced up their marital beds.
Averting her hungry gaze from the ultra-erotic sight ahead—a high-ranking official laughing in satisfaction as two submissives hosed her down with hot piss—Beatrice reached for the sleek black tablet in her lap, her long fingers adorned with silver rings tapping the screen. Her eyes narrowed with lust as she scanned a woman's profile and details. "Hmm... this Irene has the power I desperately need. With her abilities, I can turn every naughty bitch here into eternal, forever-young vampires—their bodies eternally wet, thirsty, and ready for endless pleasure."
Beatrice closed the info window about Irene on her tablet with a light tap, then opened the video player app. Her fingers moved swiftly, selecting the ultra 4K recording she'd saved over and over—the image so sharp that every pore on their skin was visible, the audio crystal clear down to the thump of heartbeats. The screen lit up: her little brother's penthouse, that night, a sex party with the girl group Lunarian.
In the center of the frame, Raiden was pounding Devina with a slow, lethal rhythm—each thrust gentle but deep, making the girl's hips sway uncontrollably. Irene, with that ever-present sly smile, hugged Devina from behind, her hands soft yet firm on the girl's shoulders, ensuring she couldn't escape the overwhelming pleasure that forced her to surrender. In another corner, Cindy and Xenovia were lost in their own world—lips locked, tongues dancing wildly, hands roaming over sweat-glistened bare skin, teasing each other's most secret spots until their breaths merged into one.
Beatrice held her breath. Her right fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric of her panties, touching her labia that were already drenched, her juices dripping slowly onto her fingertips. She stroked slowly, matching Raiden's rhythm on the screen—each thrust in the video like a stab into her imagination. Her breathing grew ragged, her chest heaving quickly, her nipples hardening against the bra's fabric. She imagined herself there, in Devina's place—her body spread wide open, her vagina clenching in anticipation of Raiden's massive, terrifying cock, the one that always left her weak.
Her sensitivity skyrocketed. Her middle finger now moved faster, pressing against her throbbing clit, while her thumb rubbed her increasingly slick vaginal lips. She bit her lower lip, stifling a moan. But it didn't last long—her body tensed, her hips lifting from the chair, her thigh muscles trembling violently. Orgasm crashed over her like a brutal wave, her fluids squirting lightly onto her palm, a long, wet groan escaping her throat—raw, full of satisfaction.
She gasped for air, her face flushed, eyes glassy. With her hand still soaked, she closed the video app. Then she opened the gallery, zooming in on a photo of Raiden and herself—his cold smile, those sharp eyes that always made her shiver. Her fingers traced the screen, caressing Raiden's face with slow, obsessive strokes.
"Hehehe… just wait, your big sister will be coming for you soon, darling."