contemplating the bustle of noses and slaves. The girls lined up in front of me on their knees, head down, avoiding looking up. The High Priest prepared a bunch of iconic things, spread them out on a small table. Klyuchnik’s black ring also lay here in the embrace of a pink silk cushion.

The priest turned to the hall and raised his hand for attention.

- My brothers! Today is a great day. Our searches are complete. The seventh Klyuchnik was reborn from the ashes. He returned to us in the face of this noble, brave young man. What's your name? - he turned to me.

- Dima.

“Dima, Dmitry,” repeated the Priest tenderly. - Do you swear, Dmitri, to faithfully serve the Ring. To protect his secret, to observe the seven commandments and to keep a vow of silence?

I already made a fool of that evening when I got into the car, and I was not going to repeat the mistake.

- I swear.

The priest approached and hung up the Key on my neck, then took the ring from the small pillow and put it in the mouth of the redhead, who immediately dropped on her knees.

Slowly, in order not to upset the solemnity of the moment, the red-haired concubine bent down, pulled my cock into her mouth and, feeling the head with her tongue, planted the ring to its very foundation. A member filled it completely, stuck in the throat gap, redhead choked on saliva and cleared her throat a little.

It was Vestalka, a virgin, because only virgins have the right to perform the rite of passage in the Temple of the Seven Keys.

Feeling the ring, I experienced a strange euphoria. As if there was no mortal danger, there was no frightening uncertainty. I got what rightfully belonged to me. Passed the test. Klyuchnik's soul was revived in a new vessel, my body, and now the ring was returned to the owner. I was this Keymaster, whom they had been looking for so long, who had lived in me all this time.

My Slaves were still kneeling, waiting for the sacrament. The High Priest with a gesture invited his neighbor to come up.

It was, perhaps, the most interesting person from all four. The only blonde in a feminine sporty folded, appetizing, with curly lush hair, even unstretched drops of breasts. Her strong volitional gaze, though depressed, betrayed remarkable intellect, rebelliousness and the complete absence of fear. She played a game imposed on her, obeyed the rules for the time being. When the time comes, she will stab her in the back, knock over the chessboard and dominoes will lie in her direction.

In the meantime, she knelt in front of me, folded her hands on the polished pubis.

- Do you swear, Slave Yulia, to serve Dmitry until the end of your days, until death do you part? - the Priest solemnly uttered with a certain note of madness in his voice, which was expressed by excessive intonational take-off.

“I swear,” the girl replied.

“Kiss,” the Priest ordered.

Julia bent down and with a light touch of the lips to the head of the member fixed the union.

The priest soaked the brush in the semen collected in the Bowl of Knowledge, and with a tip spent on the lips of Julia. She was sitting in front of me on her knees, with a thick smear of sperm on her lips, with an absolutely insubordinate gaze, with her head down limply, waiting for instructions. Her lips are glued together with a white glaze seal that runs down her chin. Suddenly, the blonde opened her mouth, instinctively brushed sperm with her tongue, pursed her lips with rejection, finally licked all the icing. For a brief moment, her eyes darted upward, met my own and immediately shifted to the floor with a fearful bird.

The priest took out a spring familiar to me with a lock and gave it to the girl.Yulia's booty fell to the floor and, spreading her legs wide apart, began to work with expert movements. Her small elastic vagina, which had already come to know the piercing, reluctantly pressed into a narrow pink slit. Forging hardly penetrated into the clitoris, pulling the lock and lightning into a reliable hitch.

After finishing the lacing, Julia got up and, raising herself on tiptoes, pulled out her pubis, our eyes met again. I fastened it for the first time. Painfully long, messing with the lock. It seemed to me, blondie smiled when he heard the long-awaited click. Something insidious flashed in the smart eyes of the blond Slave.

"There is another ass and mouth," whispered her gaze.

“You can use them at your discretion,” I whispered in response, smiling tenderly.

Julia, wagging her hips, went down into the hall, flaunting a new castle. Making it clear to Kluchnik that now she has a master.

Slaves of the Order of the Seven Keys are worn uncomplicated locks until they pass the initiation. Any Klyuchnik can use their services, offend, punish, until they receive a residence permit. Therefore, girls are so eager to finally get their Vases master.

The other three girls were beautiful in their own way. The man tastefully selected cute faces, soft, trimmed butts, and beautiful, even breasts. There was a plump brown-eyed girl with black short hair in the form of a tulip, Raba Katya. She looked younger than the rest, her naive childlike look betrayed genuine interest in me. She did not hesitate to look into her eyes, languidly covering her eyelids. Maybe she wanted to attract attention and become a favorite concubine. When the High Priest collected the remnants of the Knowledge on the brush and transferred the clots to Katya's mouth, she not only put her lips on her lips, but also pulled them out to grab more. Depraved bitch drove the tongue on the lips, playing with sperm in front of my eyes, innocently slamming long eyelashes under black eyebrows. Then she sat down to close the plump juicy vagina, continuing to smack her lips, dissolving my taste.

Suddenly, I was excited. The member took off and froze in alertness. He stuck out like a log, revealing a pink head. Restrained claps rang out in the hall. They were joined by others. The masked men and three concubines, who had already passed the sacrament, clapped. My girls with locks were smiling and talking about something, looking at me. Katya, too, broke into a smile, casting awkward glances at the iron erection, straightening her hair. I fastened it, as it should be, and it was the first time that the lock was hanging on the excited current vagina. Plump ass reluctantly turned around and jumped into the room to her friends.

- Do you think they will love you? - a voice from the cell snorted contemptuously. Zlata, absolutely insane, tiredly jerked hand in the bleeding crotch, frozen eyes watching what was happening.

The High Priest, with vexation, turned his nose in her direction.

- What with her? - I asked.

“She will die,” he announced solemnly.

“She will die through my fault,” the thought sobered.

- I want to take her away.

- She's crazy.

- It works well.

I was ready to save Zlata at any cost, even at the cost of my life.

That kind act that will allow me to die in peace the next time.

They say the cat has seven lives, that evening I had only two. I have already lost one, but for the sake of Zlata I was ready to lose a second one.

The priest turned, his sharp eyes under the mask were carefully studying me.

- Armenian woman will not be able to work. Her vase is empty.

- She will work by mouth.

The priest looked at me puzzled as if he was crazy. It lasted forever - his sharp fanatical eyes, which I sustained and returned to the cold Polar region, about which this madman knew nothing.

He gave up. Calling for helpers, he ordered the cage to be lowered.

***

The redhead led me out through the back door. We went down to the same room with a mirror, where for a couple of hours before this the virgin was preparing me for execution. I got dressed, the maid threw on her coat.

It was unusually quiet in the courtyard of the temple of the Seven Rings. Velvet starry sky doused with vast expanses. From fresh air in May dizzy.

We went out the gate, a yellow taxi waited patiently in the parking lot in front of the cottage. I opened the back door, the interior light came on.

Zlata, wrapped in a sheet, trembling in a fever, rolled into a ball, huddled in the very corner.

Mustached taxi driver and did not think to blow a mustache, apparently, taught the bitter experience of dealing with night clientele.

I called the address, and we drove off, leaving both the redhead, and Muller, and the noel, and all the noses - all of them, insane, leaving them with a nose.

And all the while we were driving, I stroked Zlata, hesitating to take her to the hospital or home. I did not know what happened to her, and only a happy coincidence helped me.

We had almost arrived at my house, when Zlata unexpectedly awoke. The predatory gaze of an Armenian instantly assessed the situation. The next second, she took off the sheets and saddled me.

- Zlata ... - I unsuccessfully tried to escape.

But she already unzipped her pants and pulled out a member. I just managed to throw a sheet on her bare back, covering the jumping female ass from the eyes of the driver. My flaccid ringed member slipped into the bleeding vagina like a milk sausage in hot oil.

It took Armenian only ten frictions to finish. The next moment she lay back and fainted. Faded in my arms, remaining completely naked, defenseless and outcast.