''YOU'' are not an adventurer.
Your name is ''OLI TALVIERI'', and about two weeks ago you met a group of adventurers as they passed through your village, staying at your uncle's tavern. You're a fast-running messenger and have been delivering parcels for years, but never have you made such a dangerous delivery, and one so close to your hometown.
The adventurers were making their way to Brine Ridge to set sail, but unbeknownst to them, the gem they're travelling with has an embedded curse in it - if they place it on the Sapphire Island plinth as planned, they'll all be killed, and the nation doomed with them.
The adventurers had time to traverse the Chiari Family's manse and its attached grounds, but you don't have that luxury, and nor do you have the money or the influence to pay or barter for passage through their Pleasure Gardens. Their wards will inure them from any damage the gem's curse will send out in pulses, and peasants like you are little more in their eyes than chattel to feed to their beasts.
Your mission is as thus, then: you must make your way through the Chiari Pleasure Gardens and out through their eastern edge, toward the coast, so that you can meet the adventurers before they board a ship.
The Pleasure Gardens are infamous in your village, and for miles on miles around, and not for good reason. The Chiari are a very rich and very well-studied family of mages, but they are not kind, and they are not compassionate, and their sense of pleasure and satisfaction is to your mind very twisted.
The Chiari Pleasure Gardens are replete with rare and beautiful magical flowers, endangered beasts and creatures, their rivers populated with exquisite specimens of cultivated sorcerer's fish, and so much more: many of these magical species feast on elves and orcs and men, and just as many will do worse things than merely devour you.
Will you be better off if one of their games keepers catches you?
Perhaps - perhaps not.
They might bring you to one of the family to state your case; they might feed you to or strap you down for the nearest roaming monster to prey upon; best case scenario, you suppose, they might rape you themselves.
Better not to risk it.
Make your way through as quickly and quietly as you can. The main paths will be safer than walking through the underbrush - they'll be well-trodden and well-lit, with no vines or hungry plants, and none of the larger beasts will walk them - but the games keepers and house guards will be using them to patrol, if not members of the family themselves.
Take care.
Good luck.
[[Enter the gardens.]] You make your way into the Chiari Pleasure Gardens through a hole in the fence at the North-West corner. It's been known about for a while, according to your uncle - now and then some of the braver mages in town will sneak into the gardens to harvest valuable ingredients and reagents, or even to poach small game like rabbits and game fowl.
"But if the gameskeepers know about the hole in the fence, why wouldn't they patch it?" you asked when he told you about it, and your uncle had hesitated before he'd answered.
"Fresh meat, free supply," he'd said finally, with a far-away look. "Enrichment for the beasts and the Chiari mages alike, I suppose."
He'd tried to counsel you against doing this for the third time, but you volunteered for a reason, and you're not about to back down now.
The fence had separated the gardens proper from the rest of the forestry owned by the Chiari family, but the other trees serve their lumber mill - the trees around you are much older and broader, and there is a great deal more undergrowth, more vines, more wildflowers, more... everything.
A sweet scent of pollen is thick in your nostrils, pollen and fresh grass, and a little ways ahead of you, you can see a natural path through the undergrowth. It isn't tiled or even floored with dirt - it's just a naturally made thoroughfare, likely by keepers' boots and poachers, although it's likely that other creatures use it too.
Visible in the far distance, over the tops of the tall trees that dominate the gardens, you can see the spires and the very tops of the Chiari Manor's tallest towers, to the far south of where you are now.
[[Take to the footpath.]]
[[Walk directly east, through the undergrowth.]] You move forward and, staying low, make your way onto the footpath. It's much easier underfoot here without tangled brambles and nettles pulling at your feet and ankles, walking over a path that's already been well-trodden by a lot of other boots today.
You follow the path forward, seeing where it a small courtyard of flat-laid yellow brick. It's nice stuff, probably imported, and is laid in V-patterns. Lit braziers surround the courtyard's edges, but through the fire you're able to spy some of what's in the little yard - a covered gazebo with some seats around a firepit; two tables to one side with some benches and seats turned upside down and resting on top of the table surfaces, a preservation charm shimmering over the wood. For garden parties, you suppose, and not in use today.
Instead of making your way into the courtyard, you step back into the undergrowth again - and scream as the world suddenly moves at a blisteringly fast pace, and turns itself upside down into the bargain.
You automatically scream out in panic, pain shooting up your leg and into your hip, and you try to reach up and pull the trap free from where the loop is caught around your ankle. You try to twist free, swinging on the line, all the blood rushing to your head, and below you you hear the laughter of guards or groundskeepers.
"Looks like we caught a big one, girls and boys!" a voice calls, laughing.
The line goes slack, and after a sudden drop, the world goes black.
(text-colour:red)[''DEAD END.'']
[[Back to start?|The Pleasure Gardens]]Rather than stepping onto the well-trodden path before you, you carefully walk through the undergrowth, keeping one shoulder to the fence as you make your way under the boughs of a tall and wizened yew tree. Despite it being so early in the day, dawn breaking over the horizon as you made your way here, you are blanketed in shadow as you pass between the edges of the fence and the huge trunk of the tree.
While the main wall of the Chiari Gardens is warded and enchanted to discourage trespassers from begging at the gates or trying to peer into the gardens while the family are hunting or entertaining party-goers at a private soirée, the fencing on the northern side has no magical protections, and even has some intentional gaps in the fence.
The one you passed through has been widened for poachers to make their way through, but the intentional gaps are made to allow the natural passage of various animals - rabbits, rodents, birds, foxes, badgers, even smaller deer.
Having had to climb up a few hilly ridges to make your way to the fence's edge, you're more than grateful for how flat the ground is beneath you now, although you have to carefully pick your way through and over roots and fallen branches. Keeping your body close to the yew trunk, you peer around it.
You're within sight of the corner of the footpath, so you quickly move to hide behind another larger tree, this one an oak about half the breadth of the yew - not gargantuan, but wide enough to hide you from anyone who might look your way.
You can't see it, but you can hear the rush of water in the distance - a few streams trickle down the northern hills, but this sounds more powerful, must be a bigger river or other waterway that serves the gardens.
Looking eastward, there are a few paths you could try to take: [[you could duck forward and continue eastwards whilst hugging the northern fence line]], move directly through the trees, or [[make your way a bit further south where there's less of a canopy, where the trees open up.]]
Keeping your back to the trunk behind you, you scan around for potential hazards - the undergrowth around the fenceline has brambles growing, coiling around the fence posts and reaching out for some of the trees and larger bushes; in the grass and undergrowth ahead of you, there are fewer branches of thorny bush, but something seems... off.
The underbrush seems too still, or maybe too perfect, too untouched? You can't see anything, but if you listen very closely, you can hear a faint buzzing under the rushing water farther east.Keeping your shoulder to the fence, you carefully pick your way through the brush. It's not really a matter of choice, picking your steps so carefully - there are thick tangles of thatched brambles, nettles, sticking weed and ivy, on top of tree roots and half-broken branches.
If you lose focus on what you're doing for even a second, you're liable to trip and break your neck, or worse, break your ankle so that you're a sitting duck for whatever comes by this way. You can hear the buzzing from a little ways off from you, but as you carefully inch along the fence's edge, it stays at a decent distance from you, and doesn't feel like it's too close.
Absently, you pick a few blackberries off a bramble as you duck underneath it, popping them into your mouth and chewing on them. They're very sharp - they're not yet ripe, as you're still three or four weeks out of season - but it's an almost automatic reflex, really, when you see berries on a walk.
You pick another berry, this one most of the way ripe, and then hiss as a thorn catches on the side of your thumb, although you manage to catch yourself before the surprise has you bowling yourself over.
Sucking irritably on the edge of your thumb, you try to stem the bleeding, but you've caught it right on the edge of your nail - it stings like a motherfucker, and as you shake your hand out to try to ease yourself of the throbbing pain, a few droplets of blood fly free.
This was a mistake, apparently: as soon as the red droplets hit the brush beneath you, it begins to move.
Rooted to the spot, you stare in horror as vines and leaves begin to shift before your eyes, writhing around your ankles like a pit of snakes, and you try to turn and run, but [[you're too late.]]Keeping your shoulders to the tree trunk behind you, you slowly move around it and look sidelong at the main path. Through the bushes and trees, you can see the glint of flame, and for a second you freeze, thinking it's a guard moving in your direction, but after a few seconds you realise that the flame is still: it's a brazier, far enough that its light isn't going to hit you.
Funny, that they'd have braziers lit on the main paths even in the middle of the day - it's well late enough by now that they should have put the night lights out.
You quietly jog forward, positioning another tree between you and the pathways, and now you can see not just the light filtering in through the canopy but some of the blue sky above you. This isn't a natural clearing - it's too broad for that, and too rectangular.
Plotted in rows are some sort of cultivated plant on waist-high trellises. You don't recognise the fruit, but given how bright fucking blue it is, not to mention the fact that even under the sunlight you can see that each bulb is emitting a faint glow, you know it's magical.
The leaves are red-brown and very broad, each as wide as your palm, and the fruits at their ripest are about the size of your fist, or maybe a little bigger; the smaller ones are more purple than blue, and seem more textured than the biggest of the fruits, which apparently take on a slightly slick quality once they reach their full stage of growth.
Looking at the biggest one in your eyeline, you see that it's actually dripping slightly - you can smell the juice, you think, honey-sweet and just as thick and syrupy. There's something hypnotising about it, the sight of that fruit and the scent of it and the imagination of how it might taste, how wonderful it must taste, and you're desperate in the moment to reach out and take a bite--
But before you can, you hear a loud rustle to your left, and you shrink back against the tree again, staring at the beast that hoves in from the forestry nearer the fence. It's as if a horse were spun from magic, twice as large as a mundane horse, and set to roam. Its body is chitinous and spiny, natural armour like that of a fighting beetle forming over its shoulders and down its spine, over its haunches, and also forming a helmet around its head, down the length of its nose. Blue wisps of radiating magic gather about its huge body, clinging to its four legs the way that mists cling to the shore.
It's a stallion - each of its balls is as big as your head, and its huge cock isn't fully hard, but it's some of the way there, so that the blunt head sticks out from the sheath. Like the fruit on the vine, it's very blue, and it's also glowing - and also dripping.
It doesn't smell sweet, but you can certainly fucking smell it: it's heavy and thick and musky, and just a slight whiff of it as the stallion moves past you makes you feel dizzy, your head tipping against the trunk and your knees going a little weak.
Gods.
You need to move quickly - the stallion bends its head to eat a few of the fruit from the vines, making the trellises creak with its casual strength, but it doesn't look as if it will be distracted for long.
You can either [[cross behind it and risk it turning back to look at you]] before it passes into the rows of trellises, or you can go back behind the tree and pass around the other side - [[make your way south, in parallel to this fruit field, but keep out of this demon horse's eyeline.]] Glancing left and right, you make a break for it, keeping half-crouched and low to the ground and moving as quietly as you can. You're a good ten or twelve feet behind the thing, but you're still too close for comfort - as you pass directly behind it, you can see its huge bollocks shifting pendulously as it breathes, and you swallow a mouthful of spit and nearly stumble as you pass through to the other edge of the clearing and under the cover of trees again.
The sound of rushing water is a lot louder now.
"Fuck," you whisper under your breath as you dodge between some slimmer trees and weave between them, looking for another big one to hide behind, and your eyes set onto a big weeping willow.
Ducking under the curtain of hanging branches, you slow down a bit, catching your breath and walking around the tree, and even before you gently push a handful of hanging leaves aside, you're able to see the river.
It's too deep and too fast-running to wade through, and while you're a decent swimmer, you know you won't be able to fight water that's running that fast.
"//Fuck//," you say again, this time with frustration rather than relief, and you grip hold of the willow leaves and squeeze them, trying to get out a little of the tension in your body.
[[You slowly creep out from under the willow canopy and to the river's edge.]] You carefully make your way around the other side of the tree, but as you step away from it and try to walk in parallel to the fruit trellises, you step on a dry twig and it makes an astoundingly loud crack.
You wince, squeezing your eyes tight-shut and almost hugging onto the tree trunk for purchase, but when you peer around it toward the trellises, you can see that the fucking blue demon isn't even glancing in your direction, and is happily taking bites of the heavy blue fruit from the vine.
"Trespassing, are we?" asks a voice from behind you, and your head snaps to look into the eyes of a gamekeeper with a set of leather straps hung over one shoulder - reins of some kind, they look like, and you can't even imagine that, trying to bridle and saddle a great beast like the one before you and try to lead it anywhere.
"No," you say, biting the inside of your lip. "I mean, fuck, I mean-- Yes, but I just need to get to Briny Ridge, it's an emergency, and I needed to cut through. Look, please, no one has to know, just let me--"
"No need to piss yourself," the keeper says reasonably. "Sure, fine, that's no trouble. I'll let you go straight through to the docks - you just need to follow the main path and east, over the bridge and past the boat pond. I'll even walk that way with you. You just need to help me with one of my errands first."
"Errands?" you repeat, your blood already feeling very cold.
Hot breath ghosts over your neck and the top of your head as the demonic thing that is too huge to be called a horse peers around the tree trunk and begins to chew at your shirt collar.
[["Errands," the keeper confirms]], and adjusts the leather straps in her hands. The river is pretty loud now that you're up close to it, and you're careful not to move too far down the bank, or you're liable to slip and fall all the way in. It's not easy to see how deep the water is, but you'd definitely be neck deep in it at least - there's no chance of you skipping across it, no break caused by rocks or banks in the riverbed.
You know vaguely where the streams start from the hill, and they're a lot slower and shallower than this - where this waterway meets the fence, it must be slowed down either naturally or artificially. You can't see why it would be worth the effort to slow it down artificially, not for the sake of the streams through the forestry - if anything, it'd make more sense for those waterways to run as fast as they can, because the Chiari lumber labourers use them to transport the logs.
If the river slows down as or before it goes under the fencing, there'll be space for you to crossover - a bit of embankment, maybe, a shallower pool before the streams break off down the hill, maybe even some rocks or heavier stones you can skip over. Even if you can't do that, you might be able to climb across the river by grabbing hold of the fence.
Or...
You have to grab hold of some reeds and make sure they're firmly rooted to look, but you lean out and look southward, around the bend in the river - there's a big stone bridge a ways upriver. It, too, is lit with braziers, all along the bridge walls, as well as the paths either side of it, but the light passing under the bridge's arches is shadowed. There's something under there, under the bridge - you might be able to go under the bridge and stay out of sight.
It's a gamble either way.
Sighing, you [[head upriver toward the bridge]].You step away from the very edge of the river and move southward until you reach the bend in the river. You can't see the bridge through the trees and bushes, can't make out the stonework, but now that you know what they are, you can see the pattern of the braziers and the light they're giving off, know where it is.
The tree you're under now is the biggest tree you've ever seen - this is another yew tree, and it must be a thousand years old, might well be older than that. It's wider across than you would be laying down - wider across than you and your uncle would be lying down top to tail, with both your heights measured and added up.
The boughs are very high over your head, and there are pretty little lights strung through them, which you notice before you notice the floor of some kind of structure up there. You hope to fuck it's a tree house or a chalet to have tea parties in or, fuck, even a high-up shooting hide, and not a guard tower.
When you touch your fingers to the tree trunk, you shudder, because apart from being so old, there's other stuff going on with it - its red and brown bark is warm under your fingers.
On the other side of this fuck-off big elm, you can see the main path through the gardens. It's tiled in pale yellow brick, in stark contrast to the dark grey stone that makes up the main garden wall and the bridge, not to mention the stone parts of the Chiari manse - the stone was quarried from not that far from here, from down the valley, but this yellow brick is simple but expensive-looking.
Braziers are stationed every six feet along the yellow path, alternating position on each side of the walkway; every twelve or twenty feet are a pair of trees set in troughs and with little yellow brick borders formed around them, with benches. These trees are fruit trees, but they're normal enough: a pair of apple trees; a pair of orange trees; a pair of plum trees; a pair of pears, and so on.
Pressing up against the yew trunk, you hold your breath as a pair of uniformed guards walk by. One is in the fancy armoured clothes you know that the Chiari family guards always wear, because they wear them when they escort the family in and out of town or when they travel - they don't wear full plate like city or palace guards because they're too heavy to maneuver in, although you heard a lady saying in the tavern once that it was more about the appearance of it, that hand-enchanted, hand-woven cloth was three times the price of even mastercrafted steel or silver in materials alone, let alone the labour that went into tailoring it to fit.
From this far away, you can't see the particulars of the garments, the trousers or the shirt or the jacket, but you can see the threads woven through the fabric glittering under the brazier light, and even the threads in the guard's widebrimmed hat, which you guess is to keep the sun off more than it is to protect him from swords or bullets.
The woman beside him is in their keeper's kit - she doesn't have the same level of armour on, except for the vest she has on over her shirt, and she wears long breeches tucked into knee-high boots.
They're talking to each other casually, but both are looking one way and then the other as they move, scanning the woods around them, looking upwards toward the tree canopy now and then, or casting downward looks through the underbrush or over the path.
Twice as they walk in the direction of the bridge, the keeper reaches up to touch one of the fruit trees, pruning off a twig or checking something, and each time she does, the guard with her watches her back before they move off together again. You can't hear what they're saying, can just hear that they're speaking to one another, as they disappear down the path.
After enough time has passed to make it safe - you hope - you follow alongide the path whilst keeping out of reach of the brazier light, keeping down low. There aren't as many trees growing along this part of the river, and you don't want to get close enough to the paths to use the fruit trees as cover. Keeping down low, you keep yourself as covered by hedges and shrubs as you can, as well as trunks and stumps that have long-since grown over with ivy.
The stone bridge looks horribly fucking exposed - the braziers along the bridge walls are much bigger than the little ones that light the paths, and maybe those flames will hide your shadow if you move along it fast enough, but only if people are looking your way from the manse. If they were looking at you directly from up or down the path - or if they were up in that big fucking yew tree - they'd see you a mile off.
You'll be a lot more out of sight if you creep down the bank and move underneath it. Two arches support the walkway, and from here you have a good view underneath - there are bars underneath the bridge to keep anything too big from running directly downriver, and on the other side of the bars you can see some barrels held in place.
The water isn't running any slower here, but clotted around the base of the bridge arches is a bunch of mod and pondweed, and you see that the bars are only to keep bigger things from hitting the platforms that run under the bridge. The water is mostly running under those - it's slippery, but stable.
Surely, [[under]] is a better route than [[over]]?After looking both ways to make sure nobody is coming, you shuffle down the bank and onto the stone walkways that run underneath the bridge. The stone is not just wet but overgrown with moss and algae, and it's a little slippery under your feet, so you widen your stance and move as best you can.
There's a surprising amount of stuff down here, more than you expected - on lopsided, ramshackle shelves nailed into the stone walls and trussed up against the bars, there are various trinkets and treasures: teacups and glasses, pots, bottles, little toys and models, jewellery, coins.
Some of the crockery is chipped and cracked, and you guess it's been rescued as it's washed down river and caught on the banks or landed here under the bridge: strung between the lower rungs of the bars are little fishing nets, and it looks like the barrels slung around them are filled with fresh water.
Some fish are strung up, cut open to dry in the air, and you can smell the salt and smoke that's been used to preserve it.
Is someone fucking living down here, under this fucking //bridge//?
Who the fuck would--
"Treasure," rumbles a deep, stony voice, and you slowly turn and stare at the towering figure of a troll. He has to bend his great head and shoulders a bit to fit beneath the stone arches, and his stony features are darkly shadowed in the wet, shaded environment.
[["Ah, fuck," you say.]] You might have been better served running away instead.Ah, fuck it.
Keeping your head down, you make your way onto the stone bridge and run as fast as you can whilst keeping close to the wall and most of the way out of sight, and once you get to the path, you just keep running.
You skid almost all the way down the hill as you pass through the fancy archway that leads down to the docks - the Chiaris have a private dock, but it's within sight of the others, and you have a straight shot to the path around the coast to Briny Ridge.
You've fucking made it.
(text-colour:cyan)[''YOU WIN.'']
[[Back to start?|The Pleasure Gardens]]The thickly coiled plant matter twists up and around your ankles, your calves, your thighs, and you shout out in pain as some of it tears at the fabric of your trousers, brambles biting into the meat of your legs, nettle leaves stinging hotly at your wrists and at your waist where your shirt is riding up.
The pain only ratchets higher as more vines twist around your body, and as soon as they draw more blood, the plants only move in hungrier, more aggressive ways, biting into your skin and then tearing deeper.
You scream as a thorn as long as a finger spears you through the belly and tears into you, your guts spilling out from the new hole and falling over your lap and into the hungry grasp of the undergrowth keen to eat you alive.
Blood is pouring out of you as well as your organs, and before you can scream again, another vine begins to tear into your throat.
(text-colour:red)[''DEAD END.'']
[[Back to start?|The Pleasure Gardens]]As laughter carries toward you from the garden walkways, you moan around the bit in your mouth, your eyes streaming with tears. Stupid of you to think that fucking keeper was carrying a bridle and bit for this beast of a fucking horse-thing, as if it would ever fit in its blue-glowing, white-fanged mouth!
The stallion's body is devilishishly, impossibly hot where its belly is in contact with yours, your arms and legs trussed in leather bondage that tie around the trunk of the stallion's body, leaving you hanging beneath it like some parody of a rider's saddle. Its underside is not as rough and spiny as the armoured carapace that makes up the top cover of its body, but doesn't feel like any mammal you've ever touched before - despite being infernally hot, its body is leathery, like the wings of some giant cockroach.
Its cock is enough like a real fucking stallion's, except for its being able to move it around with the dexterity of a tongue, and you wonder if it's going to kill you - it's easily as thick around as your calf and the keeper had laughed as she'd let it force its way into your cunt, to seat itself deeply inside you.
Your belly is already swollen with cum that feels as if it must be sizzling inside your womb, the swollen paunch of it pressing up against the stallion's underside, and as it walks forwards, you swing wildly from side to side, making the cock rub and shift inside you.
Its heaving balls are pumping and pumping cum into you, so much that you can hear it slosh inside you, and there's nowhere for you to go with your ankles and wrists tied like this.
It's glowing.
Night is setting in now - the adventurers will have already set sail hours ago, before the sun set, let alone true dark like this. This nightmare of a thing you're strapped under can't pass between or even come close to the braziers at the edge of the paths, but they aren't there just to keep the beasts away from the family and their staff - they're there to light the show.
As well as the flames lighting your naked skin, you can see the bright blue glow inside your swelling belly as more of the beast's cum is pumped into you, and you sob and keen feverishly around the bit in your mouth.
"How long until it takes?" you hear a voice on the other side of the braziers ask, a posh voice, tittering with laughter.
"It'll probably have taken already, ma'am - these things fuck for pleasure just like you or I do, and their sperm is prodigiously potent, even impregnating a man or an elf, so he's just enjoying himself now. Give it about three months, give or take, and we'll have a new fara to join the herd. If Oli here survives the birthing process, he can probably add more than that!"
More cum bloats your belly, the stretching skin painful as it's forced to balloon far beyond what should be anybody's natural capacity, and it burns inside you, and your cunt is throbbing, and you're terrified and there's probably already a fucking demon horse growing inside you, and your cock is rubbing against the ribbed base of the stallion's leathery belly.
You scream and you cry and you struggle, and you get nowhere - but the stallion roars its pleasure, and fucks into you with abandon.
(text-colour:red)[''YOU GOT FUCKED. '']
[[Back to start?|The Pleasure Gardens]]All the shouts of "I'm not treasure!" and "Let me go!" and "Please, I just need to get to Briny Ridge!" in the world cannot help you as the troll rips your clothes clean off your body. He's easily two or three times your size, and his stone-like hands are impossible to fight against as he holds you up to the light and examines you thoughtfully - or as thoughtfully as a troll can.
Trying to kick him in the face only serves to make you feel as if you've broken a fucking toe, and the troll is undeterred as he forcibly shoves your thighs apart and examines you carefully, looking your cock and the opening of your cunt, then your arse, in the face.
He's muttering to himself as he takes his inventory - "two legs", "two arms," "mouth," "two fuckholes."
"Not two," you try and tell him, still trying to struggle free.
"Rock can count," the troll tells you firmly. "Two fuckholes."
"No, no," you tell him, even as you risk a glance down between his legs at whatever monstrous fucking pillar of stone this thing has between his legs. "Just, the, there's two holes there, but only one of them is for fucking, please--"
"Two fuckholes," the troll says, and to demonstrate his point, he pins you against the wall with a broad hand against your chest, momentarily crushing your ribs and making your next breath painful, whilst he lathers his fingers with some sort of thick oil from a cannister. It does not smell good, and you wonder what the fuck he makes it out of, but you don't get to interrogate the thought as he forces two thick, blunt fingers inside you - one in your cunt, and one in your arse.
You howl in pain as your arse is forced to open and your cunt has to give away, and a tingling warmth radiates out from whatever the fuck oil this is, your thighs kicking.
"See?" the troll presses. "Two holes." Concentrating on his work, he looks critically between your legs as he fucks his fingers into you, then muses, "I pick the tighter one."
"No, no, no--"
The troll slathers his huge cock with more of the weird lubricant and then grips you around the middle, and then he's forcing his way into your arse, and it hurts, it hurts so badly, it burns, and your empty cunt is throbbing, and you can't help the way you kick and scream and whine as your arse is invaded.
Sighing in satisfaction, immune to the way you're struggling and shouting out for help, the troll settles himself deeply inside you, and then begins to tie up your limbs.
You're doomed to your fate now, unfortunately, to this troll using each and every one of your holes as he pleases - even if one of the garden staff wanted to, there's no parting this troll and his treasures.
''(text-colour:red)[DEAD END.]''
[[Back to start?|The Pleasure Gardens]]