Zahrine twitched and convulsed, spasming as her lungs ached for another breath and her brain cells began to die off. All that mattered was this fat schlong humping haphazardly at her gaping asshole. XXX “That can be arranged,” retorted the orc in a surprisingly cohesive application of common tongue. Overtop the obfuscated footpath lay a carpet of leaves in a range of hues from the same gold tint as the sunbeams to a deep, ruddy brown. “So far, so good,” Zahrine breathed to herself. Nubile and baring all, Zahrine dangled there helplessly as the eyes of several dozen orcs poured over her – admiring their prize catch of the afternoon. On the other side, a just-tight-enough-to-be-painful grip was latched around the back of her neck.




















