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Message-ID: <63501asstr$1440756603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RavensDrkGothic@aol.com
Full-name: RavensDrkGothic
Subject: {ASSM} The Maze
Lines: 403
Date: Fri, 28 Aug 2015 06:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


  
 
 
The Maze (fantasy from my teen  years)
 
   The young woman, the cloak wrapped  around her, sitting in the poorly 
lit dungeon, a collar chain giving her little  distance of movement from the 
wall.  Sitting wrapped in her thoughts of the  many days spent in leisurely 
pursuits.  Now all has changed.  Her  land, her father's land overrun by the 
barbarians.  She and her maidens  trapped in the underground tunnels and 
then dragged to the dungeon feeling the  crudely casual touches of the men 
guarding them.  Chaining them to the  walls of the filthy cell.  A bucket and 
straw all that was left for them to  see to their needs.  Seven virgins girls. 
 Never touched by male  hands, now each feeling bruises and soreness in 
their body.
    The celebration of the victory  over her land lasting over three days 
now.  Continuous feasts and games in  the arena.  Men killing relatives and 
friends to gain a chance to  live.   Now with the find of the virgins of the 
temple, tomorrow, more  games in the arena.  The Maze being uncovered and 
repositioned.   Changed to add spice to the cheering fans circling the vast 
stone arena.   The Maze such a simple concept.   Until one must run it for 
their life  and more.  The four entrances and the one central podium.  All  
entrances having a solution or do they.  But there surely is one  solution.  So 
much to be wagered.  The entrance that the chosen picks  and the 
possibility of them making it to the center.  Many even wager the  time that the 
attempt is stopped.  What might stop the attempt to complete  the maze.  Well 
there might be pitfalls or traps, or animals lurking, or  armed warriors in the 
maze or following into the maze behind the human  prey.
    Already the young women have  been told that the maze, the arena holds 
their fate.  And the one to test  the maze would be Patrice.  The first of 
the temple virgins.   Young and lovely and unmarked.  First of the girls.  
Princess and  daughter of the King.  A tall lithe girl.  Athletic and cheerful 
of  disposition.  Now the champion or challenger as it may be to the beast 
of  the maze.  Few have beaten it and its obstacles.  In nearby Crete, the  
Minotaur  prowled the stone ways.  Here the walls might be guarded by  any 
number of possibilities.
    The prize, if the barbarians  would honor the challenge, would be the 
freedom of the girls.  The loss  would be the chains that each was already 
bound by.  Slavery as household  slaves not likely.  The lovely girls would 
serve better purposes.   Child bearing, no.  Whores to the barbarians would be 
their fate.  For  them a public deflowering.  Possible relatives and 
friends watching as they  writhe straining against the bonds as they lay on the 
central altar of the  arena.  Being used as the scabbard for a vast array of 
swords.
    The dispirited girls sitting on  the damp straw, talking softly, 
occasional sobs and whimpers as they each  reflect on their fate.  Not able to 
sleep with the neck chain keeping them  from lying down.  Their short white 
tunic  skirts discolored with the aborted escape through the tunnels.
    Flickering of lights in the  narrow window above their heads.  If they 
could look through the bars, they  would see the preparation for the 
morrow's festivities.  The Maze being  shaped as stones are rearranged.   Voices 
muffled punctuated by brief  moments of yelling.  The darkened cell slowly 
showing the girls kneeling as  the dawn brings the light of day.  Words now 
lost to them.  The  morning moving forward in slow motion.  Each sound, 
footstep in the dungeon  area, bringing looks of fear to the faces of the young 
girls.  
    The girls were not picked for  their outer beauty.  They were of good 
families chosen by lot with at  least  one always being of the ruling house.  
The girls maintaining  the temple to the goddess pure and chaste.  Quickly 
removed if for  some reason one of them lost that status.  Never had the 
temple been  without a virgin.  That seemingly would soon change.
    The Maze a massive structure  built inside the temple arena.  The high 
altar in the center a  massive slab of flat stone, the maze built around it 
on a lower level, visible  to all from the tiers of seats surrounding it.  
With much effort the maze  could be covered over with mats and become a 
darkened maze culminating in the  central altar.  Games and combat often used to 
entertain the citizens. 
    The sun now bright in the sky a  strong portent of the hot day to come. 
 The air not moving in the fetid  dank cell.  A bucket of water and a 
dipper used to refresh the girls  internally.  As the sun rises, slave girls come 
and strip the girls of  their stained clothing.  Fresh garments, white and 
as pure as the  girls arranged on their bodies after a sponge bath of cold 
water and soap,  rinsed and then garbed.  Hair coiffed with a pony tail, a 
small tiara of  status place on their heads.  
    Their fertility sticks  (marriage sticks) taped to their right thigh.  
Each stick a choice of the  girls and their families.  Most shaped into some 
form of wooden  phallus.  To be used if the girl is to be sacrificed to the 
Goddess at the  Spring Equinox to bring the good graces of the gods to the  
community.  Each year one is chosen.
    Moved to a holding room in the  base of the arena, each girl deep in 
their own thoughts.  Some shivering,  others tears formed in their eyes or 
sliding in a small wet stream down  their cheeks.  None openly sobbing.  Their 
garment a simple skirt and  top, rings holding the sleeveless dress on their 
shoulders.  Skirt loose  and falling to a few inches above their knees.  
Demur, but also showing the  young soft flesh of the girls.  A tie sandal 
completing the ensemble.   Very simple.
    Added to the attire is a  small rawhide string, circling the waist, 
binding the hands behind the  girls, to the make shift belt.  A similar rawhide 
string connecting  their ankles with length to allow the girls movement to 
run, but not at full  speed.  And a lead string tied around the neck of each 
young  girl.  A black rose placed over the left ear of each  girl.
    The temperature of the waiting  area increasing as the sun rises higher 
in the sky.  Not a hint of wind in  the vast stone arena.  The crowd 
gathering for the noon hour  extravaganza.  A mix of warriors and selected folks 
of the realm.   Venders hawking their wares in the stands.  As women of the 
conquered land,  now walk the aisles offering their services for pay.  Steep 
prices  minimizing the usage of the women at least during the games.  After 
them a  frenzy of carnal delights await the seasoned warriors.  Some 
preliminary  low skilled gladiatorial battles entertaining the waiting  crowd.
    The canopied section of the  temple in the cool and catching the slight 
breeze now filling with the leaders  of the Horde and their concubines.  
The stadium surrounded with the battle  flags of the barbarians and their 
standards weakly flapping on the upper  tiers.  A fanfare of hide drums and 
animals horns quieting the crowd as  much as the warriors moving through the 
stands.
    A parade or procession circles  the perimeter of the arena.  A 
magnificent chariot leading with a tow line  behind it.  The temple girls at the 
head, lead by their leashes in single  file attached to the one in front.  Each 
one with raised head, fighting  back the tears.  Showing those in huge 
stone structure, family and enemies  alike, that they are still the maidens of 
their goddess.  Following them is  a contingent of armed warriors, separating 
the girls from the combatants of the  games.  This group many professional 
gladiators and others that hope to win  some chance of life.  Humans, and 
elves, dwarves and orcs and all mixes in  between.  Most wearing just a loin 
cloth stripped of their armor and  weaponry.  Following them are the fearsome 
dwarvian wolf riders.  Then  various captive women and a scattering of men. 
 Another small contingent of  warriors and then the gymnasts and the last 
grouping, the animal handlers and  their charges.  And finally a group of 
pony chariots manned, or womaned by  lithe female warriors.  
    An impressive parade circling  to a combination of cheers and jeers.  
The crowd worked up with a  combination of alcohol and hate and blood lust.  
Finally arriving at the  main entrance again the chariot stops and the girls 
unleashed from one and  another.  The gladiators are brought to the holding 
area to equip for the  upcoming events, as are the slaves, gymnasts and 
beasts.  The pony chariots  moving quickly spacing themselves around the 
circle.  Wolf riders   gathered off to the side.
    Six girls, six virgin girls are  let up the ramp to the center of the 
Maze.  To the podium, the massive  stone that the stadium is built around.  
The girls various sizes and shapes  and social status, collar tied to a ring 
above their head, attached to a stake  on the vast stage.  A trickle of 
moisture puddles at the feet of one of the  girls.  The last girl, the seventh 
one, the young princess Patrice, stands  waiting.  Her body quaking, 
shivering as she waits.  The signal given  to read the rules engagement in this main 
encounter.  All through the tiers  of seats, speakers tell the gathering 
what will be the stakes and  rules.
    Patrice waits  as the  scrolls are unfolded and the words fill the 
arena.  The Maze will be run by  one of the temple girls, who will represent all 
in this game.  She must  pick an opening and make it to the center; before 
she is captured by the  selected pursuers.  At forfeit is her body and that 
of the other temple  virgins.  Should she win the game, they will be freed 
and sent to  safety.  Should she lose all the maidens will be sacrificed, and 
they will  become slaves of the Horde.  The pursuers will be wolf  riders.  
Five are chosen, four men and one woman.  As she  stands stoically each 
rider and there mount is lead to Patrice, sniffing at her  scent, then each one 
returns to the holding area.  The girl  will be given one hundred beats of 
the gong head start and then  the pursuit will commence.
    Tears welling in her eyes as  she watches the huge gong on the central 
dais.  The loin clothed slaves  wait, watching the sundial and the precise 
moment to commence their count.   Hair pulled back in the ponytail, a bead of 
sweat across her brow, legs shaky as  she stands.  The dust stilling 
settling from the parade.  A bead of  sweat, slides down between her breasts.  
Heart pounding as she  watches.  Wrists tied behind her back and secured to her 
waist.  A  hobble rope around her ankles, not allowing a full stride.  Her 
left sandal  loose and not securely bound around her lower leg.
    A roar of sound as the slave  swings the heavy mallet.  The pealing of 
the gong, reverberating against  the walls of the arena.  The girl frozen in 
fear and terror, then moving on  the third stroke of the gong, running at a 
trot to the leftmost  opening.  Almost stumbling once as her pace tautened 
the   hobble dragging her back leg and pulling it.  In spite of the short 
choppy  steps, she moved quickly, her tall figure closing on the opening at 45 
 beats of the gong.  Slowing as she enters the maze, the short walls  
twisting and turning  her dry lips tightly closed as she gasps for  breath.  
Looking up and seeing the tiers of people.  Having lost count  of the beat, 
moving to the left and right.  Fear having taken the simple  rule of turning to 
the left from her head.  Finally seeing the huge center  altar  above her 
head as she winds her way inward.  Hope filling her  with energy, walking 
quickly, puffs of dust around her feet.  Then coming  to the high wall, looking 
up and then at the dead end.  No place to  go.  A moan of despair escaping 
as she quickly turns and then moves back,  unsure of herself, running to 
escape the maze.  
    Hearing the pealing of the gong  and then the quick tattoo of sound as 
the 100 stroke is struck.  The roar  of the crowd deafening as the pony 
chariots patrol the perimeter of the  circle.  The giants wolves, quickly moving 
to the spot of the reading of  the rules.  Muzzles to the ground as they 
catch the scent, turning  impatiently to the left.  The riders breaking into 
two groups.  One  group of three to the left and another of two one moving to 
the front entrance  and the other to the right.  Not taking a chance on a 
wrong scent.   The riders stripped to loin cloths all five of them, 
displaying thick muscles in  their compact bodies.  A cloud of dust kicked up by the 
two groups of  riders.  Quickly closing on the two side entrances, left and 
right.   The scent leading to the left entrance, sending the wolves in a 
frenzy of  howls.  The two riders to the right one moving to the right entrance 
and  the other to the far one.  Wolves testing the scent and finding none.  
 Patrolling the three entrances with two riders as the three quickly leave 
one at  the left entrance and then two riders move into the maze.  Purposely 
the  riders are goading their mounts to howl loudly.  The two riders move  
deliberately into the tightly walled circle.  One sniffing and then the  
other.  Both following the strong scent of the scared girl.  
    Selective viewing from the  spectators allows some to see the activity 
in the Maze.  The dust paths of  the riders moving ever closer to the tall 
girl.  The girl hearing the  sounds of the wolves as they close in on her, 
zigzaging deeper into the maze,  following the hopelessly confused girl.  
Stumbling with a snapped strap on  her sandal, Patrice walks barefooted, sandal 
dragging.  The hot sands of  the floor burning her foot.  The sound of the 
wolves rapid as they catch  the fresh scent, carried on the breeze.  The girl 
breathing heavily,  sobbing as she stumbles from wall to wall, now bouncing 
off them with  fatigue.  Her mind not looking for an escape from the Maze, 
but an escape  from the closing lupines.
    A growl and turning she sees  the huge animal, teeth bared as she moves 
behind another wall.  Two steps  and she feels herself knocked against the 
wall, head and shoulder banging hard  into the stone.  Falling to her knees 
and leaning against the wall, the  drool from the monster dripping on her 
neck.  Fangs inches away as she  hears the low rumble of laughter from the 
dwarf.  His hand reaching out and  grabbing the ponytail, yanking hard on the 
clump of hair, pull head back in a  scream of terror and pain.  The wolf 
trampling her with it paws.  The  sharp nails, digging into the soft flesh, 
tearing the short gown ripping the  skirt.  A gouge of blood runs downs her left 
thigh.  The welt quickly  rising and  marking her leg.  The wolf howling 
with victory.   Another rider and mount  move to the fallen girl.  Keeping her 
pinned  to the wall.  The first rider grabs the rope around her neck and 
tugs on  it.  Yelling at her to rise as the wolf back up.  The girl moisture 
on  her leg from where she wet herself in terror.  Standing shakily, defeated
,  a tug and the bite of the rope around her neck moves her along the walls. 
  Unerringly the wolves move to the side entrance of the Maze.
    The buzz of the crowd expectant  as the ones with a view were able to 
see the capture and the word spread quickly  in the stands.  The girl, 
bleeding and covered with dust, walking woodenly,  senses dulled thankfully by her 
unbelieving mind.  Exhausted as she leaves  the Maze, the raucous roar of 
the crowd announcing the appearance of the riders  and the girl.  The other 
riders come in response to the horn call.  As  they move to the front of the 
temple, a ramp is lowered to the bridge leading to  the center.  The girl is 
pulled and tugged along by the winning  rider.  The other wolves nipping at 
her legs as they walk to the  altar.  The girl streaks of tears wetting her 
face.  The eyes of the  other girls looking at her as they move across to 
the altar.  Waiting  there, the Shaman knife in hand cuts the garment from 
the girl.  Standing  proudly, body shaking she is exposed to the gathering.  
Tall and lithe,  perky breast, standing out on her chest, the flat stomach, 
hips full and the  soft sell of her mound.  Long legs, dusty and bloody.  As 
she stands  there a bucket of water is thrown on her body and then another.  
Washing it  of the dust and wet blood.  A puddle of pinkish water around 
her  feet.  Strapped to her thigh for all to see, her marriage stick.  Long  
and thick, a shiny ebony lifelike phallus. 
    The five wolf riders,  dismounting and moving their animals to a small 
corral at one end of the  altar.  The short dwarf warriors gathering around 
the virgin  princess.   The clothing doing little to hide the excitement of 
the  small warriors.  Even the woman warrior standing, nipples hard and  
thrusting from muscular breasts.  The Shaman and his helpers taking the  girl 
and leading her to the stone saddle of the altar and cut the bonds from her  
ankles.  Bending her over the saddle and cutting the bonds on her arms,  
pulling them  and tying them to the rings on the floor of the other  side.  
Spreading her legs wider they secure them to the floor also.   bend at the 
waist over the rough stone arms and legs secured the girl is bent  and open to 
the eyes of the spectators.  The blood lust filling the  stands.  Stomping of 
feet filling the stadium.  A trickle of pee  running down the girls legs.  
Her virgin lips exposed from behind.   The Shaman taking a knife and cutting 
the straps of her marriage stick.   Lifting it high in the air, a hush 
falls over the crowd.  Silence but for  the sobbing of the girls and quickly 
silenced wailing of her relatives and  friends.  
    Waiting with bated breath,  Patrice, is bent over, blood rushing to her 
head, lightheaded as she feels the  stick touch her lips, rubbing against 
them moaning as she bites her lips.   The dwarvan woman walking around to in 
front of her and grabbing her ponytail,  looks into her eyes, then drops the 
head and reach underneath, fingers massaging  her nipples.  Gently urging 
them with softly rolling fingers.  The  nipples swelling as the girls 
whimpers.  Tears filling her eyes, as she  knows that with her nipples hardening, 
her juices have begun to flow.  Legs  shifting as the ebony cock strokes 
along the swelling labia, being coated with  juices.  Trying to escape the hard 
firm touch as it rubs on the lips,  parting them.  The mushroom head twirled 
at the entrance coating it with  the slick moisture.  Then raising the 
phallus high over his head the Shaman  takes it and spitting on the small hole 
between her ass cheeks, pushes the hard  black wooden against her tight hole. 
 A scream of pain as she lifts her  head in agony, the thick head pushing 
at her hole, taking her asses madienhead  as the thick ridge of flesh is 
slowly swallowed into her brown  hole.   The Shaman pushing it deeper in short 
strokes.  Her screams of surprise,  shame and pain filling the arena, 
carrying high in the tiers of seats.   When half the polished wood cock is in her 
ass, the Shaman steps away from the  girl. 
    Then the dwarf that captured  the girl, pulls a step to behind her, 
pulling off his loin cloth his cock  standing out firmly from his mat of thick 
pubic hair.  Stepping up, he  moves to the swollen lips of her pussy, 
reaching underneath and slap her mound  with the flat of his hand.  Then jerking 
his hips, he fucks his swollen  member into her virgin tunnel.  Another 
scream of pain as he takes her  maidenhead. His cock breaking the thin membrane 
of flesh and sliding quickly  into her pussy, his coarse hair rubbing on the 
backs of her pure white  thighs.  Quick hard strokes into her pussy, pushing 
her tunnel open as  it sinks deep in her womb.  The slap of flesh loud on 
the dais.  The  crowd now yelling in many voices advice to the dwarf warrior. 
 Patrice weak  and full as the black cock in her ass rubs against the thick 
cock of the short  man.  Grunting as she tries to catch her breath.  The 
cock pounding  hard against her delicate flesh,  spreading her tunnel as it 
enters and it  collapsing behind as it pull out.  
    Her head lifted roughly as she  stares into the fat wet lips of the 
dwarf woman.  Her pussy juices flowing  as she moves forward and rubs her vulva 
on Patrice's face, slapping it as she  pulls the girls head back, telling 
her to lick the swollen labia.  With dry  lips she licks at the juices, 
wetting her lips and mouth with the  taste.
    Eyes glazing over as she stands  bent over, ass filled with wooden 
cock, the man dwarf fucking her hole, grunting  loudly as he pounds the formerly 
virgin pussy. And the woman dwarf using  the girls virgin mouth for her 
pleasure.  The taste of urine strong in her  nose, that and unwashed body 
parts.  Stomach rubbing  sore as the  stone saddle abrades her flesh.  Tears 
washing is face, wetting her lips,  scalp pulled tight, as the woman finally 
cums on her face.  Her cheeks wet  with the juices mixing with the saliva and 
tears.  Raising her head weakly  as the dwarf steps away.  Seeing the girls 
looking at her, knowing that  they will face a similar fate.  A male dwarf 
steps up to Patrices's face  and squeezing her nostrils shut, shoves his cock 
into her mouth as she gasps for  air.  Fucking her mouth with long vicious 
strokes, his pubic bone smacking  into her face.  The coarse hair scratching 
her already wet cheeks, rubbing  the skin raw.  
    A satisfied grunt of pleasure  from behind her as the dwarf fills her 
hole with his seed. The warm jism  spewing deep into her womb.  All she can 
do is gasp on the cock in her  mouth. tongue swollen and dry, thick in her 
mouth.  Gagging as the dwarf  pushes deep in her mouth.  As one pulls out 
another shoves his cock into  her dripping hole.  A puddle of pinkish juices 
spreading beneath her  body.  Another dwarf fill her pussy and fucking her 
furiously.  The  cock short and thick, a hand reaching around her waist and 
short stubby fingers,  pinching savagely on her pearl.  Choking in pain as she 
tries to  scream.  The only sound a muffled whimper as the dwarf shoves his 
cock  against her face, emptying his seed into her mouth, sputtering as she 
chokes,  biting down  teeth grazing his shrinking cock.   Rewarded  with 
repeated slap on her reddened cheeks.   Passing out with  pain.  Another load of 
cum filling her tunnel and then sliding to pool  between her legs.  The 
last of the riders taking her turn in the  girl.   His cock pumping into the 
limp body, fucking her as her tunnel  is slack.  Her swollen labia rubbed raw 
on the stone saddle of the  altar.  No friendly covering to soften the hard 
unyielding  stone.
    The sun's rays beating down on  the naked girl.  Burning her back and 
ass a bright red, the backs of her  thighs.  As she lays there limply, each 
girl is strip and made to kneel on  the stone dais.  Their marriage stick 
taking their virgin asses.   Their virgin holes offered to the rape god of the 
barbarian horde.  The  girls savaged by the victors in gladiatorial battles 
coming to claim the body of  a virgin and then a former virgin.  There 
marriage sticks left imbedded in  their asses.  Showing the contempt of the 
barbarians for the customs of the  land.  Each girls pussy and mouth filled with 
the swollen members of the  mixed band of warriors.  The other slaves male 
and female made to move sent  into the stands to bring comfort to the 
spectators.  
    As Patrice is laid draped over  the stone saddle, one of the wolf 
riders brings his huge grey wolf over to the  girl and the huge tongue licks 
between his spread thighs.  Tasting the  hardening cum on her swollen labia.  
Pushing against her tunnel.  The  tongue licking at the hanging juices and the 
moisture of her warm slack  tunnel.  Her body jerking in movement as a 
bucket of water is poured on her  head.  Legs flexing trying to escape the 
invading tongue.  The wolf  whining and then raising up on his muscular hind 
legs.  The thick fur  tickling her cheeks and then the body weight as it comes 
down on her back and  ass, pushing the wooden cock unmercifully deeper into 
her ass.  A loud  scream of terror and pain causing the others to look to the 
stone saddle.   The long angry red penis, pressing between her thighs, 
stabbing at her fat vulva  and then shoving into her tunnel.  The princess, the 
virgin, the whore and  now the bitch, filled with the animal cock. 
    The girl, feeling the cock  sliding between her bruised lips.  The tip 
jabbing again and again into her  hole, sliding out and then pounding on her 
labia.   The nails ripping  long welts in her sides and hips.  Slobber 
pooling in the small of her back  and then running along her spine and back.  
Curving under her arms and then  over her breasts, dripping from her rock hard 
nipples.  Her body shaking  with the intensity of the wolf's furious 
assault  Again and again his cock  shoving deeper than that of the men.  Banging 
on her womb, causing pain as  the tip pushes at the opening.  Feeling the 
knot of the lupine lodging at  her vaginal opening, stretching the tender 
flesh, pressing hard at the tunnel,  her body clenching on the cock, feeling her 
first orgasm as her body shakes with  spasms.  The pain and pleasure mixing 
in the quasi awakened state.   Grunting loudly as the knot pops into her 
body, filling it with quick spurts of  cum deep in her body, animal seed pushed 
deep into her womb.  Head lolling  limply as the wolf continues to fuck her 
hole, pushing at the knot jammed in her  body.  The cock squirting more 
seed and then it oozing out of the still  hard cock.  Spasming again as she 
pushes back at her lover cumming  again for her master.  The bitch girl panting 
heavily, breasts rubbed  raw as her whole body is from the stone saddle.  
Moaning in pain and  pleasure and pain.  The waves alternating and then 
merging. Locked to  his bitch, trying to pull free his paws tearing more welts 
into the already  battered body.  Finally his swollen knot popping free.  The 
girls  genitalia an open hole.  A stream of dog cum adding to the puddle now 
 around her feet.
    Half standing and laying, a  stream of urine erupts from her body.  The 
pee irritating the raw and  swollen flesh of her vulva.  Her body itching 
and for relief, Patrice is  rubbing her labia against the rough hewn rock.  
Crying in pain  at the  touch, but rubbing trying to relieve the intense 
itching.   
    Each girl assaulted by one or  more wolf.  The girls tied to the rings 
on the stone floor, slapped awake  an doused with water as they are forces 
to service another and another man, elf,  dwarf, orc or some other variation 
of living male.  Each girl filled with  seed, dripping from their vaginas or 
their mouths, bodies draped with strings of  white seed.  Patrice awakening 
to the feeling of fullness, as she feels a  huge appendage buried in her 
pussy.  Her body driven into the stone.   Her body clenching on the mammoth 
cock, gasping as it slides into her  pussy.  Eyes watering with tears of pain 
as it pushes on her  womb.   Again and again her body is slammed into. Then 
feeling  the huge hard shaft pulling form her cunt.  The wooden dildo pulled 
from  her ass, covered with blood and soil, then a glob of spit on her 
gaping asshole,  and then another.  Sliding into the open hole and then the huge 
cock,  pushing into the backdoor.  Fainting mercifully from the pain as the 
 monster Orc fucks her ass with his 12" cock.  Long minutes and he  spews 
his seed into her asshole.  As he pulls free the suction draws the  seed out 
of her body, flowing down her lips and over the raw and torn  flesh.  Taking 
the ebony dildo and sliding it easily back into the gapping  hole.  
    As morning finally shows itself  a burst of bright red in the sky.  The 
virgin whores lay in puddles of  moisture.  Each one exhausted and bleeding 
seeping fluids from all of their  orifices.  Carted to the witches to heal. 
 More than one of the girls  in their fertile time.
    The barbarians laughing as they  tell each other of the joke.  The one 
where there was no way through the  Maze.  Never having to fear losing, as 
the wager could not have been  won...............
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