There are no clocks in this dungeon. The only way to measure the time is by the melting of the candles that light it and the appetites of the deity that inhabits it. After each multi-orgasmic indulgence that Mistress Megan enjoys she stops to drink champagne and inhale more cocaine, and to replace the candles that have burned down to extinction. Then she climbs back atop me, re-inserts my long-suffering erection, and once again begins wildly riding me as though possessed by some s*x-crazed demon succubus. At least four or five times she goes through this cycle, finally driving me to the brink of ecstatic insanity before her thirst for conventional s*x is finally slaked. And then of course much darker, even more urgent needs immediately surface in her. Megan cokes back up once again (clear