The wench could only hang in the air shaking helplessly, flopping about like a rag-doll as the newly emerging satyr used her to sate his terrible need for sex. She sobbed as her insides cramped, his rigid phallus expanding to even greater proportions in the moments prior to his second ejaculation. The massive outpouring flooded forth in a boiling cataract to wash against the entrance to her bruised womb, the overflow running out to coat the insides of her thighs.

The merciless shafting went on for hours as the maladapted prince explored his newfound carnal appetite. He revelled in his sexual power over the female as he fucked her with a priapic energy that he had only dreamt about before his terrible, yet remarkable transmogrification.

At dawn, Malpurgo entered the chamber to find Vulkan on his knees, once again busily thrusting himself into the grunting female resting on all fours before him. This time, the humungous, veined rod was lodged in the wench's anus and despite the cool, dank atmosphere; her jolting body was bathed in sweat from her hours of effort. She strove to keep her arms locked and her hips sharply upturned lest the cruel prince have greater cause to punish by slapping and pinching at her abundant buttocks, breasts and belly meat.

The wizard had to call out three times before Vulkan heard and obeyed the deep-seated hypnotic suggestion. Haltingly and with evident reluctance, he disengaged himself from the woman, leaving her to subside into the floor, her arms and legs leaden with exhaustion. Between her slack thighs the crushed and bloodied openings of her rectum and vulva gaped wide, twin rivers of thick, lathered effluvium pouring slowly from both devastated orifices to pool beneath her on the cool stone.