So without further ado, the lone prince cantered out over the drawbridge and spurred his coal black steed toward the distant ribbon of hills beyond which lay the wealthy and fabulous realm of Dashane.

Malpurgo visited the buxom serving wench he had previously put to Prince Vulkan each morning for three days following the satyr's departure. On the first morning, he found the woman tossing and turning on her narrow bed in the grip of a ferocious fever, her body flushed and running with perspiration as she battled with violent delirium.

On the second, her fever had broken and she lay comatose. The sluggish rise and fall of her chest almost indiscernible, even to his expert eye as her exhausted body struggled to recover itself.

On the third, Malpurgo entered the cell to find the woman once again sweating and febrile, but now her hazel eyes were clear, bright, and filled with a fierce intensity as she looked at him. This time cause of her fever was very different from that of the first day.

"Where is he?" she demanded, rising up as far as her wrist and ankle chains would allow. Her bitten and bruised body squirmed fretfully as she ground her broad rump into the straw filled mattress.

"Bring him to me, I need to feel his great cock inside me now!"

Malpurgo placed his hand lightly upon the wench's upraised knee. It took only the merest touch to make her thighs fall wide open, a soft hiss of anticipation escaping her lips as she exposed the sopping, overheated vulva with its turgescent labia gaping slackly and the clitoris, thickened and standing proud – aching for stimulation.

Malpurgo dipped his fingers into the steaming tropic; his smile broadening as the woman pushed her pelvis steeply upward, grunting huskily as the wizard reamed the entrance to her vagina with his long, thin fingers.