“Under the rules of The Hunt, as set by General Scathach! I hereby declare myself the successful captor of Annwyfyn Arawn!” Rowena yelled gleefully.
1 v 3 has never looked so good, and losing a fight sounded so sweet. In the midst of a pitched battle between the forces of the Demon Lord and a Crusade of the Order, Ser Luke von Drachen will find himself in dire straits against a bevy of lethal beauties, all determined to claim him as a war prize!
My hackles rise as I comprehend my situation: ‘I am confined. I HATE being confined!’, my control over my emotions begins to falter as that child-thing approaches me relentlessly. I find myself involuntarily stepping backwards in consternation.
Observing my action, she smiles lewdly, enjoying my discomfort. She seems to deliberately stomp her hooves louder as she steps ever closer. My smile has long vanished, replaced with a snarl.
The closer she gets, the more my attention is drawn to her finer details. I can see that she has but three fingers along with a thumb on each of her oversized hands/paws? Lace garter stockings combined with a strip of a halter that just barely covers her nipples. On an adult female, such accoutrements would have intrigued me. But I find it beyond revolting on this mockery of a woman.
Finally, she stops just outside the innermost circle. She continues looking over my near naked form as if I am slab of meat, her pupils lingering over select portions of my anatomy. Her mouth opens and I see her tongue blep out for several seconds as her gaze fixates on my loincloth. Bile rises in my throat in response,.
Her gaze tells me that I am nothing more than a commodity to her. I sense that she would not hesitate for an instant to turn me into a plaything if given half a chance.