Vulkan closed his eyes and tried to calm his galloping terror and worse, far worse, this new nightmare of going to sleep and waking up an idiotic gargoyle.

The grulls wheeled the large table on which the prince lay into an adjoining chamber and positioned it in a deep alcove where he could see the room, but remained discreetly hidden within the inky shadows.

A short time later the grulls returned, dragging with them the reluctant, whimpering figure of a busty serving wench, whom they shackled by the wrists to the room's only fixture, a tall wooden post set into the centre of the slab floor. The chamber was dimly lit by a single shaft of wan sunlight that entered through a circular aperture in the domed ceiling and which now fell directly on to the woman. The light illuminated the full curves of her voluptuous, peasant body as she stood peering uncertainly into the surrounding gloom.

The tightly bound Vulkan moaned softly, the quaking sound resonating in the depths of his belly. His quiescent prick immediately began to rise as he feasted his eyes upon the naked female standing only feet away. As Vulkan's newly augmented libido asserted itself he quickly became aware of a number of subtle changes in his faculties. His eyesight seemed far more acute, easily able to pick out the crop of tiny goose bumps speckling the woman's broad pink aureoles as she stood shivering in the cold, damp air. His sense of smell had also become heightened with the fecund odours of her crotch and armpits suddenly sharp in his flaring nostrils. And the soft sounds of her feet, shifting nervously on the granite slabs, came easily to his ears, as did her gentle, fearful mewing. A delicious sound that filled him with an unspeakable volume of raw sexual hunger.

Vulkan began to pant rapidly, perspiration springing out onto his quivering body as he began to twist and strain against his bonds.