A visit from the vassals

You sit on your throne, a bottle of wine clutched in your hand as you take long gulps of the delicious wine, smoking from an old, antique wooden pipe. Your vassals, three large, burly looking men stand in front of you. The three men have thick beards and mustaches, long dark hair bundled into ponytails. There muscled frames are clad in steel plate armor with warhammers and greatswords at the time. All fearsome warriors and leaders, these men control your territories for you, and have recently brought you a gift of wine and tobacco, which you're testing at the moment. They're vying for a joint expansion of their lands into territory conquered by Taylor and the Undying Legion, so they're trying their best to please you.

"Good?" the warlord in the center asks.

You're impressed, but not enough to show it. Giving the slightest nod, the warlord shows a grin of teeth, a flash of yellow and brown.

"That's good, Lord Abaddon. We have additional gifts for you. Bring them in!"

The doors to your throne room open, as a shuffle of **** girls are brought inside. Three girls are dragged in by chains, brought in by their respective masters. You stare at them eagerly, grinning and licking your lips.

The first **** is near naked, crawling in on her hands and knees as she's dragged in. She immediately presents herself, presenting herself. The only item of "clothing" on her are a pair of nipple clamps tightly crushing and pulling at her bust and keeping them tight together. Her cunt lips spread to reveal a glistening cunt, while her asshole is filled with a large wooden butt plug, that spreads the asshole around the plug.

"Please fuck me, Lord Abaddon," she says, her gaze at the floor.

The next **** dragged in is almost fully bound in a kinbaku knotwork, her arms tied behind her back, her tits bulging from the tight ropes squeezing each of them tightly. She's barely able to stumble in with her constrictions. Her mouth is held open by a dental gag, a makeshift of metal wire forcing her mouth open, the perfect receptacle for a cock.

She gargles something, that you can vaguely make out as "Please fuck me, Lord Abaddon". Or "Peas yucky, Lord Bla-Bla." Both make sense.

A third and final **** is led into the room. The woman has fair skin, her hair dun up in a ponytail. She wears a metal bikini, a long strip of purple cloth on the front and back covering what little remains of her decency. A rope is tied around her neck, and she has to be dragged in kicking and spitting by the **** driver.

"Say it!" the guard hisses, cracking his whip.

"Fuck you," the **** hisses, before the whip strikes, leather slashing through skin and flesh as blood begins to trickle down his side.

The **** screams, her lip quivering.

"Say it," the guard repeats, his tone far more menacing.

"Please... please fuck me, Lord Abaddon," she says, her voice little more than a spiteful, deviant whisper.

"Three fine **** girls, all for you," one of your warlords says.

"Hmm... what a delightful option. Which one to try first...?" you say, grinning.