... he must remaindispassionate. Numb. Think in abstract terms.Simon's other hand was inside David's blouse, fumbling with his brahooks and eyes. He must be mad! What did he expect to find there?Was it some genetic programming or an ingrained routine?Simon's fly was open now. Simon's hand guiding his inside. God itwas big. And it was leaking gallons of pre-cum. The underwear wassoggy and sticky with it. 'Y' fronts! Simon was wearing 'Y' fronts!David uttered up a silent prayer of thanks. An organ that size, insuch a rigid state, had no chance of getting through the opening ina pair of 'Y' fronts, not without divine intervention. They wouldhave to be pulled down, Simon's trousers too ..... may a slipbetween the cup and the lip .... Christ don't think about it ....Don't go there!David's fingers slipped though the fly of the 'Y' fronts and hisnails scraped along the satin soft flesh of the Simon's prick. Godhe could never get that inside him. He tried to measure it in hismind against his. The rock tilted ever further until my binds wrenched against my wrist when my weight caught on the bars. The cart was stuck to the side of the slab, facing directly downward. The cubic rock rested on the hole it had left, sealing the orcs beneath the sand, and then the cart was slowly ushered down its side. I looked out of the cage door in horrified fascination as I saw the rock deforming from its glossy surface and gripping the cart’s wheels in toothy gears that rolled us downward on obsidian tracks before we finally stopped with the cart’s front resting in the sand. “Holy shit!” the nymph girl laughed. “I’ve never done anything like that before. Did you see that? I didn’t even have to touch the stone!” I gawked at her. Sitting before me, was the answer I had sought. The quest I’d pledged my life to, the holy crusade I’d embarked on, the epic voyage of a lifetime, fraught with peril, burdened with strife, an odyssey the likes of which bards would sing of for generations, had taken.
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