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"DRAGON SWEAT: SCROLL V"
By David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)

Lightning can strike twice -- even in an orgy. 
(F+/M/insect, fantasy)

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY 

"Master."

Hal didn't want to hear the voice. He didn't want 
anything to intrude on whatever level of life he 
was now floating on. Eyes closed, a bed of 
unbelievable softness underneath him, the distant 
but comforting sounds of Josephine's claws 
scratching on the dirt floor -- and, best of all, 
the utterly satisfying feeling of having had his 
seed thoroughly drained out of his balls by the 
expert mouth of a beautiful woman.

"Master."

He was experiencing a feeling he'd never known 
before -- complete and total happiness wrapped up 
in warm shroud of satisfaction. Or perhaps it was 
a feeling of complete and total satisfaction 
wrapped up in a warm shroud of happiness. 
Whichever it was, and wherever Hal was between 
waking and sleeping, the one thing he was sure of 
was that he didn't want to be disturbed.

"Master!"

There was a tone of sharpness in the witch's 
voice at the third word which Hal's sense of self 
preservation could no longer ignore. His eyelids 
parted to see the bright bars of light poking 
down through the dusty rafters from chinks in the 
roof of the dragon shed. The sun was no longer 
new born; now it was a full of shining vigor. 
Unlike Hal, who was fully aware that the one 
certain thing the coming day did not hold for him 
was any further peace and quiet. And even in his 
previous state of content distant voices had been 
calling out to him in anguish.

"Morgana, there are things we must do."

"Of course there are, master. I let you rest so 
you would be ready for the ceremony in your body, 
but calm in mind. Now you must collect some of 
your dragon's sweat to take with you."

"It's not that simple. We must talk about 
something."

"What is this 'something'?"

Hal stared at the smooth lines of the witch's 
body under her tight fitting leather clothes. The 
notion of any woman venturing out of doors 
wearing such immodest attire was still incredible 
to him. But perhaps no more than the idea of any 
woman at all calling him her master. Even one who 
said the word as if she was spitting out a piece 
of rotten meat.

"The prison tower. The prisoners that Agrud keeps 
in it. I mean, the prisoners he used to keep in 
it.  No, I mean the prisoners that are there 
because Agrud put them there when he was king."

Morgana's finely drawn features crinkled in vague 
amusement at the boy's tongue tied awkwardness: 
the kind of amusement a cat enjoys with a mouse 
trapped underneath its paw. 

"What of them?"

"They must be released and cared for."

"Why, master?"

"Because . . ." Hal found it difficult to find 
words for something which was so obvious it 
shouldn't require any explanation. "Because Agrud 
no longer rules here and there is no need to 
continue his cruelty. Let them out and let them 
be comforted."

Morgana shrugged her shoulders -- broad 
shoulders, for all the suppleness of her body: 
"If you wish, master, but not today. The ceremony 
must needs be held today."

Hal gritted his teeth, remembering the stench 
that hung around the prison keep and trying to 
imagine what it must be like to exist in such a 
place.

"You say you promised to obey me, you call me 
master. Then do as I bid you."

The witch shook her head: "No, you do not 
remember all that was said. In matters of sorcery 
you are my apprentice and do as I say. The 
ceremony to strip Gaunt Gregory of his powers 
must be held today and all other matters are 
subordinate to that great matter. The prisoners 
will stay where they are for the present. Come, 
arise and to your task."

Hal lifted his upper body to obey -- then stopped 
in mid movement as another thought came into his 
mind. Part and parcel of his first words, two 
impulses somehow linked together in his mind 
while he was half asleep, and only now had the 
second one been snagged and dragged out as the 
first was unfolded in his speech.

"No, wait, the two things are connected."

"What do you mean?"

"The ceremony with the women. Where have you 
planned to hold it?"

"Inside the castle tower which was Gregory's 
quarters," she answered.  "Why?"

Hal sat on the edge of the bed and ran his 
fingers through his tangled hair.

"Witch, think about what you want me to do. To 
gather together the dozen most desirable women in 
the castle and treat them like camp following 
whores. Can you imagine what their fathers, 
brothers and husbands will do once they have any 
inkling about the sort of magic you want me to 
help you perform? You may think yourself in no 
danger of being harmed because of who and what 
you are, but I'm still only Hal the shit bucket 
boy to these people. Turn your back on me for a 
minute and without your protection I'll be at the 
bottom of the moat with more knifes in me than 
the castle armory. If we must have this ceremony 
there needs to be some discretion in the 
arranging of it."

The witch folded her arms with the air of a 
tavern mistress ready to deal with a brain 
befuddled drunk: "And you have found such a 
pathway to discretion, Duke Merlin?"

The tone was tinged with unconcealed sarcasm but 
Hal cared not, for everything had suddenly fallen 
into place in his mind like the pieces in a 
winning chess game.

"Yes. Or at least the path to the Devil's 
Arsehole."

He saw Morgana's brows furrow in puzzlement.

"It's a cave, in the forest, about a league and a 
half from the castle. If you go deep into it, 
without getting lost in the different turns 
underground, there's a place where hot mud and 
water come bubbling up. From somewhere deep in 
the ground. And the water and the mud are 
supposed to be good cures for all ills. The mud 
to lie in and the waters to drink. But it's a 
difficult place to get into and only the rich and 
the brave dare go inside."

"Why so?"

"Because there are many false turns and because, 
as you go further in and the air grows warmer, 
the mould on the sides of the caves gets thicker 
and many poisonous spiders live in it. But the 
real problem is the darkness. Or perhaps I should 
say the real problem is the damp air inside the 
cave which puts out torches made of wood. The 
only way to light your way inside the Devil's 
Arsehole is with a wax candle inside a glass 
lantern. Things that only the rich can afford to 
use. And, sometimes, even such lanterns will go 
out and not relight in the dampness. Which leaves 
any travellers lost in the dark with only the red 
eyes of thousands of spiders to show the way."

"So nobody goes there, then?" the witch asked, 
apparently interested.

"A few only, seeking whatever good the mud and 
water within might do them, though only if they 
be desperate, or perhaps so ill they no longer 
value their lives much anyway. Years ago three 
brothers began a business by bringing out the mud 
in wicker back packs to sell to the sick and 
elderly. The Gulburton brothers they were called 
and they thought to make themselves so familiar 
with the all the turns and trails of the cave 
that they could never get lost, even without any 
torches and candles."

"And did they?"

Hal shrugged: "I think not. At any rate they all 
went into the Devil's Arsehole one day and never 
came out again. Nobody knows what happened to 
them."

Morgana chuckled: "I daresay the castle ladies 
would need to be driven with whips to persuade 
them to venture inside such a place."

Hal tugged nervously at his fingers. He was 
unused to playing the advocate, especially for 
his own ideas. Until  yesterday he'd never been 
important enough to have ideas.

"That depends on your powers, Morgana. If you 
could provide them with light enough for the 
journey and led the women in yourself, promising 
to protect them from all harm or any danger of 
getting lost . . . well then, they might come 
along peacefully enough. But no mention of any 
ceremony, not to them or to any of their menfolk. 
Give the women buckets and shoulder yokes and 
tell them you want mud brought from inside the 
cave to help ease the pains of the released 
prisoners. Tell them it is my command."

He was surprised to hear Morgana chuckle; even 
more surprised to see what looked like a flicker 
of respect on her face.

"Well, who could believe that a lowly castle 
valet could be so tricky? But why should women be 
used for such a job when surely the men of the 
castle could carry heavier loads?"

"By Odin's sword, are you not a witch, a 
sorceress, a magician powerful enough to make all 
tremble? Tell the silly bitches you're going to 
use spells that no man must witness, tell them 
you don't want their delicate eyes offended by 
the sight of dirty and naked inmates being 
carried from the Prison Tower. Tell them whatever 
fancy comes to your mind, it matters naught. 
You'll be believed instantly and obeyed without 
question. Provided only you can find a way to 
light up the caves."

The witch smiled: "That is an easy enough task I 
warrant, Master. Can this cave be reached by a 
cart?"

"The high born ladies of the kingdom can't be 
seen riding in a cart," Hal protested. "It would 
humiliate them beyond all measure before the 
surfs."

"The cart is only for the mud to come back in. 
And to carry those buckets you speak of. The 
women may ride their palfries if they wish. But 
is there track enough for oxen and a cart?"

"Yes, there's a good enough track. An hour's 
journey from the castle should suffice."

"Then all that needs to be done is for you to 
travel to the cave and wait for us to arrive. I 
shall summon Ymir to guide you to a place inside 
the cave where I shall bring the women to you."

"Ymir? I'm to go into the Devil's Arsehole with 
your familiar to protect me from the dangers 
within? Perhaps the Gulburtons will soon have 
some company wherever they are because I'm sure 
Ymir hates me."

Morgana's eyes were as distant and cold as the 
stars on midwinter night.

"So do I, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, never doubt it. 
Calling a half grown boy my master sticks in my 
throat like a bundle of dry fish bones. But we 
all serve the Great Ones and none of us dare 
disobey their commands. Ymir will keep you safe. 
And forget not your vial of dragon sweat, no 
matter what. That is my order to you as my 
apprentice in sorcery."

"Yes, witch."

"And best leave your warlock's gown here. It 
would be lacking in respect to your craft to wear 
formal dress in such a place as you describe to 
me."

"Yes, witch."

With his heart filled with apprehension Hal began 
his duties for this strangest of days by laying 
out the dragon riding nets ready for his journey 
to the cave entrance.

If there had been any clouds in the sky at dawn 
Hal could not remember seeing them. And if there 
had been any since, they were gone now. The sky 
arching over the tops of the trees was a unmarked 
mantle of blue. There were traces of white 
visible though, along the upper flanks of the 
mountains where patches of snow struggled for 
existence under the sun's noonday power. From 
Josephine's belly net the views across the forest 
and out to the mountains had been more beautiful 
than Hal could ever remember. 

Probably because he'd never looked at the scenery 
of Giant's Pass before with any notion of one day 
perhaps being free to roam wherever he wanted 
over it. Yesterday he had been a slave who 
carried shit buckets, today he was in thrall to a 
witch, but perhaps soon he would be free to soar 
with Josephine up to the tops of those mountains, 
to breathe the crisp high air and walk with 
Chelinde and Caelia amongst the glittering white 
patches of the fading snowline. Or better still . 
. . Hal had a inspiring vision of  reaching out a 
hand to drop a snowball down Mary Gorlas's ample 
cleavage and suddenly felt better. Until his eyes 
turned again to the reeking entrance of the 
Devil's Arsehole.

Oh, wonderful! The grass was green, the air was 
sparkling, his stomach was full of good food, he 
was clean  and Josephine frolicsome. What a day 
to fly to the very peaks. And where was he to go 
instead? Into that foul dungeon of a cavern where 
so many who went in never came out. On the other 
hand -- on the other hand he knew very well what 
would happen to him if the men of the nobility 
ever suspected him of tupping their fine ladies, 
even if only by sorcery. Having his balls cut of 
and fried in front of his eyes would be the least 
of their revenge.

Josephine flung up her head, the flashing red 
stripes along her neck sounding a warning. Hal 
squinted up at the two black dots circling 
overhead which had suddenly spoilt the sky's 
pristine perfection. Then the high flying objects 
plunged together, dropping towards the clearing 
beside the pile of boulders which marked the 
entrance to the cave. It seemed as if they were 
racing towards the ground, seeing which one of 
them could reach it first, Ymir the shape changer 
in his guise as a hawk, his wings half folded, 
and Morgana astride her broom, handle up and 
twigs down, her knees bent as if jumping down 
from a hayrick instead of dropping from half a 
league aloft like a plunging arrow. Josephine's 
colors turned to an optimistic shade of green and 
Hal knew exactly what was going on in the 
dragon's mind: a keen hope that both witch and 
familiar would slam themselves into the grass -- 
or better yet, the boulders -- with killing 
speed.

It didn't happen. Ymir used the falcon's shape as 
skillfully as any true hatched member of the 
wild's most gifted fliers. Wings flung open, the 
speed of the fall somehow converted into a short, 
steep climb, a second where the falcon hung in 
the air level with the bottom branches of the 
nearest tree, a flutter of wing tips and the 
familiar passed out of sight by diving straight 
into the cave's dark entrance. It was an 
impressive performance but not nearly as 
impressive as the witch's fall to earth. 

She was just low enough for Hal to begin taking a 
interested look at her leather bound legs when a 
sound like a chorus of fast beaten war drums 
sounded, blasts of hot air slapped against Hal's 
face  and a circle of grass three paces across 
directly below the falling witch turned red, 
flared up, then blew outwards in an expanding 
ring of fine ash. Hal coughed, shut his eyes 
against the particles of fine dust and wiped his 
eyelids with his hands. When he opened them again 
Morgana was standing in the burnt circle, those 
lust creating legs opened wide enough for the 
broom to fly out from between them and then hang 
level  like a patient horse waiting to be mounted 
again.

Hal grunted in surprise and rubbed fragments of 
ash between his fingertips. He remembered how 
carts being eased downhill with their brakes 
jammed on became hot at the wooden brake blocks 
and along the edges of the restrained wheels. Had 
something like that happened here, with the 
falling weight of Morgana's body somehow being 
turned  into noise and heat so she could land 
safely?

Oh, the idea of his ever becoming a magician was 
ridiculous. Every time he saw magic performed he 
gained no insight into how it was done, only a 
childish desire to ask endless questions. 

"So, master, you have the dragon sweat ready?"

Hal held up the glass vial she had given him, 
handling it with the care such a rare piece of 
craftsmanship deserved, showing the clear fluid 
inside to Morgana. Then he wrapped the vial up 
again inside a piece of sheepskin and stowed it 
away in the drawbag slung around his neck.

"Your dragon had best depart now. Has she enough 
sense to return here when the evening shadows are 
long, if you so bid her?"

"She is no dog, to be needs taught tricks," Hal 
answered sullenly. "She lives and thinks as do 
you or I. Speaking to her with my hands is as 
easy as speaking to anybody else with my tongue."

He passed on Morgana's instructions to Josephine, 
to be answered with green and yellow patches of 
understanding, mixed with purple patches showing 
indignation and unhappiness. The dragon was in 
just as surly a mood as the boy at having to take 
orders from the witch. Hal nodded in agreement, 
then shrugged his shoulders. Josephine took one 
final baleful look at Morgana before she leapt 
into the air as spritely as a frog off a lily 
pad, flapped her wings twice thrice, and then 
wheeled away on their outstretched length.

"Something amiss with your girlfriend, boy?" the 
witch asked, a sneer in her tone. Hal realized 
that there were some movements in his dragon body 
language which were no secret to any human 
onlooker.

"Only that she regrets not having burnt your tits 
off while she had a chance."

Morgana smiled more openly: "Don't be stupid, 
Master. You can't kill witches that way."

"You can't?"

"Of course not. When did you ever hear anybody 
say the weather was as hot as a witch's tits. Ha, 
ha!"

Hal looked at her slantwise: "Come to think of 
it, I've never heard anybody say that a joke was 
as good as a witch's jokes. Now I know why."
 
Morgana's very appealing lips snapped shut as 
tightly and quickly as a sprung bear trap.

"Into the cave, please. As quickly as you like, 
Ymir is waiting."

"How am I supposed to see where I'm going?"

"Look into the hole and see the shadows being 
cast inside. Ymir has taken the shape of a giant 
glow worm. All you have to do is to follow him."

"A giant glow worm . . . right. You couldn't just 
give me a magic lantern or something?"

"There is no need, my familiar will see you safe. 
Now leave, quickly, before the women get here."

Hal took a final breath of crisp fresh air and 
walked boldly into the cave. At least he hoped he 
looked bold: going underground with no companion 
save an oversized worm was an event he hadn't 
anticipated and didn't relish at all. Five heart 
beats later he leapt out of the cave, skipping 
over the litter of fallen rocks as if the 
Christian Devil himself had been waiting in the 
gloom to drive a red hot spear into his backside.

"Morgana! Inside . . ." He struggled for breath. 
"Legs! Claws! Fria und Odin!"

"Legs, master?"

"A dozen of them! There's a cockroach as big as a 
hound in there!"

Morgana shook her head in open despair at her 
pupil's stupidity: "Master, didn't you know that 
glow worms are really beetles with shiny patches 
on their backs?"

"What?"

"Glow worms are not really worms -- they are not 
worms." The witch seemed to be trying to speak 
through clenched but perfectly white teeth. "Glow 
worms are beetles. Luminous beetles. So Ymir has 
taken the shape of a beetle; not a worm, nor yet 
a cockroach, but a beetle. A perfectly harmless 
beetle. Now will you please follow him and stop 
wasting our time?"

Hal swallowed a mouthful of the mountain air as 
if it were a lump of stone and gripped his hands 
together to stop them trembling.

"Oh, sure, I'd love to. There's nothing I'd 
rather do than crawl into the Devil's Arsehole 
with a bloody big beetle for company."

"This was all your idea, remember? And if you 
think to see nothing worse than Ymir as an 
apprentice magician, you have much to learn, 
young Hal."

The boy struggled to make light if his panic. If 
the witch could joke, then so could he.

"Call me master when you're calling me an idiot."

"Yes, master." 

She bit the words off as if  they were rats and 
she was a terrier breaking their backs. Hal had a 
sudden flash of memory, of the streaks of shit on 
King Agrud's royal rump as he staggered away from 
his castle with smoldering stumps where his hands 
had been. By Loki's drawers, he must be mad to be 
playing the fool with this woman!

"I'm sorry, Morgana, I was just startled, that's 
all. Now I know what to expect I'll get on with 
it."

He crept cautiously back into the cavern 
entrance, back into the gloom and towards the 
glowing patch where a green glow threw a ring 
around the cave's interior, casting strange 
shadows amongst the overhead rocks, the almost 
circular walls and the sandy floor. Though none 
of the shadows were anywhere near as strange as 
the humped and glowing wing case standing nearly 
as  high as Hal's knees and supported on several 
pairs of hairy, many jointed  legs. Legs that 
were moving up and down the gigantic beetle's 
body in a sort of ripple effect, as if they were 
all taking turns to stamp down on the sand with 
impatience.

Hal cleared his throat and spoke: "Uh, sorry, 
Ymir, you took me by surprise. I'm ready now, 
though."

The words came bouncing back at his ears from 
different directions, somehow louder and much 
distorted in the humid air. Much more 
disturbingly, tiny red eyes were beginning to 
appear in the surrounding darkness like embers 
carried out of a bonfire on a strong wind. Ymir 
scuttled forward, Hal said a rude word and had to 
rush forward to keep up with the familiar.

"Slower, slower, or I'll fall over on these 
rocks."

If the beetle slowed, it wasn't by much. Which 
wasn't surprising. Ymir was probably still 
bearing a grudge for being blown out of the sky 
and into the turd filled moat. 

"Hey, Ymir, if I break a leg I won't be able to 
perform at this ceremony the way that Morgana 
wants me to."

That line of argument seemed more successful. The 
beetle's pace dropped, although the sarcasm 
evident in the deliberate movement of each pair 
of legs was obvious. Of all the humiliating 
things that Hal thought might happen to him in 
his life, it had never occurred to him that one 
of them might be having the piss taken out of him 
by an insect. Still, there were worse fates than 
that around: just ask the Gulburton brothers.

Hal only hoped he wouldn't have any such chance. 
He kept glancing over his shoulder, afraid that 
three skeletons with backpacks of rotting 
wickerwork might be tiptoeing up behind him. But 
there was nothing except the dwindling circle of 
sunlight at the cave's entrance, quickly lost 
from sight as Ymir came to a junction in the 
passageway and turned left. Now there was only 
the light cast by the beetle on the surrounding 
walls and a roof which came lower and lower as 
they moved onwards. Underfoot, more and bigger 
rocks appeared and the sand became wetter, oozing 
out from underneath Hal's sandals.

Another turn, and then another, the cave growing 
ever smaller, the air becoming as hot as the 
castle kitchen with every spit roasting, as damp 
as rising fog, and smelling of exactly the kind 
of smell your nose would expect to find in a 
place called the Devil's Arsehole.

"Oh, yes, very romantic," Hal muttered in self 
scorn under his breath. "What a wonderful place 
this is for a lovers'  rendezvous. I chose really 
well here, didn't I?"

The beetle suddenly stopped, its stag like 
antenna poking out over the edge of a pool of 
pitch black water. It was as if a puppy had 
pushed its nose into a bed of stinging nettles 
and didn't know which way to turn next. Some 
measure of pleasure came back to the boy. 

"Go on then, you clever little bastard, show me 
how well a beetle can swim."

Ymir turned left, walked up the wall with a 
clatter of claws, hung upside from the top of the 
cavern and walked forward again as easily as he 
had done down on the ground.

"Fuck me," Hal said in disgust and waded into the 
water. 

It was like stepping into a slab of polished 
black marble: at least, until the ripples from 
his movements began to disturb the absolutely 
smooth surface of the pool. He was wet to the top 
of his thighs when he came out the other side. 
Ymir continued to show his contempt for the 
human's clumsy steps by keeping to the cave's 
roof as he moved on. At least it was easier to 
see the way with the light above Hal's head; what 
he didn't enjoy was noting how many more of those 
glittering red eyes were lurking in the patches 
of moss growing on either side of the cave. Fria 
und Odin, there were more spiders here than ants 
in a nest!

If walking along this pathway without a light was 
what the Gulburton brothers had been willing to 
do to make some quick florins, they deserved 
every penny of whatever they'd earned before fate 
foreclosed on their borrowed luck. Hal wouldn't 
have come back into this cave a second time for a 
backpack of gold coins, let alone one filled only 
with medicinal mud.

More turns, more pools, two of them, the second 
up to his waist again, another turn . . .  Hodur, 
god of darkness, he'd never be able to find his 
way out of here on his own now. Then ahead, two 
or three steps further on, there was a pile of 
boulders, with a trickle of water running over 
the top and down the front of the lowest of them. 
The rocks made a barrier right across the width 
of the cave and came up to Hal's chest. The thing 
which immediately caught his eye was the grove 
worn into the top of the rock by the gentle 
runnel of  water -- this wasn't the wear of 
years, this was a mark left by passing centuries.

Ymir passed over the barrier of the rocks, 
dipping up and down as his beetle shape crossed 
the gap in the roof the boulders must have 
dropped out of, so long ago that perhaps giants 
had still walked in these mountains when the fall 
had happened. 

Then the familiar stopped, illuminating a rough 
dome shaped section of cavern overhead. A myriad 
of other lights sprang up around the glowing wing 
case, but not spider's eyes, not these. Blue, 
green, yellow, from the size of a fist down to a 
tiny speckling, all different kinds of minerals 
or precious stones which caught the faintest of  
light and returned each ray brightly burnished in 
a shiny new color. It was like looking up into a 
cloudless night sky filled with a mass of many 
hued stars. And it was a beautiful sight.

Hal could have stood and stared with his mouth 
hanging open a lot longer than he did. He would 
have done so except that the beetle's legs began 
dancing with impatience again.

"All right, all right, I'm coming." 

He splashed into the puddle at the bottom of the 
rocky barrier and found several projecting ledges 
where he could place his hands and feet. One step 
up and Hal was looking out over a circular pool 
trapped between the barrier of fallen rocks and 
the wall which marked the end of the tunnel. 
Perhaps ten paces across and as dark as the other 
pools he'd crossed, but not as smooth, because 
there seemed to be some kind of disturbance in 
the middle of this one, where every few seconds a 
bubble or two would emerge and break, sending out 
a hatching of ruffled water. That must be were 
the spring water came up, still hot, for wisps of 
vapor hung above the pool. And all around the 
water's edges was a ring of mud, as black as the 
water itself and only distinguishable by the lack 
of tiny ripples which the breaking bubbles threw 
out.

Obviously, the trickle of rising water had been 
bringing up silt since time out of mind, silt 
which had settled down as the mud deposits while 
the water itself had continually escaped over and 
down  the rocks he was standing on. Hal leaned 
forward and cautiously put the tip of his finger 
into the mud pressed up against the barrier. It 
was not cold, not hot. He reached out further and 
dabbed just as cautiously at the edge of the 
pool: the water was warmer, as warm as milk 
straight out of a cow's teats. Overhead, the 
glowing beetle was hanging like a crescent moon, 
a moon which was still quivering with impatience.

"All right, I'm coming. Watch me!"

Hal undid his jerkin, his shirt, and took them 
off. Then his sandals and breeks. Wrapping all 
together, he added the drawbag from around his 
neck and used the cord to secure the bundle. Then 
he carefully eased his naked body over the rocks 
and into the mud. An exploring foot found a 
shallow rocky bottom on which he easily stood, 
his knees about on a level with the top of the 
mud. Which was fine, though taking a step forward 
set Hal waving his arms to keep his balance.

"Fria!" he grunted, in fear of falling over.

The beetle walked down the wall, stopping just 
above the mudbank on the far side of the pool. It 
was clear that Ymir was showing the boy where he 
was to wait for the women. A goal easier 
indicated than reached, at least for somebody 
handicapped by a human body. 

Hal struggled to keep steady on his feet as he 
moved forward. He felt happier as he reached the 
water and the top of the pool rose up above his 
waist to his chest. Now he had something to help 
him keep upright. Which was fine until the water 
was almost level with his shoulders while his 
legs were still half buried in the mud. It was 
impossible to make progress through such a morass 
by walking.

Fortunately, he could swim, after a fashion, a 
few desperate strokes with his arms as he dragged 
his legs free and let them trail behind him, 
until he was across the pool and sprawled out on 
his stomach on the mudbank at the end of the 
cave. Hal felt like a spawning eel trying to 
crawl along a riverbank past a blocking weir. And 
even land bound eels didn't have the problem of 
dragging a bundle with them. His scraps of 
clothing were now no more than a tangle of mud 
plastered rags, dirtier even than when he'd worn 
them whilst emptying the castle shit pots.

Grunting with the effort Hal crawled forward on 
his hands and knees, his fingers spread out wide 
to keep them as much as possible from sinking 
into the mud under his weight. Luckily, the rocky 
edge at the back of the cave was only a pace or 
two away and he was soon able to haul himself 
onto it, though his arm and leg muscles had to 
work hard to break free of the mud. 

In fact a lot of it came with him, stuck to his 
body, and with no clean water within reach to 
wash it off with. Furthermore, it wasn't the kind 
of mud he was used to, the usual clumpy admixture 
of water and earth. This cave mud had no lumps in 
it at all, it was as smooth and consistent as a 
bowl of rich man's porridge, only black instead 
of white. And, like the pool water, it smelt of 
sulphur but not strongly enough to be an 
irritant. Yet, with his bare buttocks trying to 
find somewhere comfortable on the stone ledge, 
and almost all of the rest of his body plastered 
with the gooey mud, Hal was having trouble in 
believing that this place was at all healthy -- 
except perhaps for a boy who needed a totally 
secure tupping place.

And even that idea dwindled as rapidly as the 
overhead light when Ymir suddenly spun around and 
scampered back up the tunnel roof in a rustle of 
legs, leaving the pool and the surrounding walls 
in the dark. Dark!  What was left behind wasn't 
any kind of normal darkness, it was as black as 
the bottom of  a filled grave, a suffocating 
blackness so complete it filled Hal's eyes, his 
ears, even his mouth as he bellowed out in shock.

"What the fuck! Come back here, Ymir, you little 
bastard!"

Nothing, no answer, no response, only the memory 
of a last quenched out flicker of light as the 
beetle shot around a far bend of the tunnel like 
a hunted hare dodging a close running hound.

"Oh shit! Oh, Fria!" Hal wailed.

It had never crossed his mind that Ymir would 
leave him down here in the bottom of the Devil's 
Arsehole. But within a quarter of the time it 
took for a snowflake to melt in a fire it 
occurred to him that the witch had found an 
excellent way of ridding herself of an unwanted 
Master. And he'd been the fool who had made it so 
easy for her. A mouse who had walked up to a cat 
and bitten its nose would have been smarter than 
Hal had been.

"Oh, fuck!"

Oh, fuck indeed. 

Here was a tale indeed to take to the halls of 
the dead. Hal imagined himself standing on a high 
stage, looking out over an audience of faces 
extending to the very edge of infinity, the face 
of every person who had ever lived and died, and 
having to explain to them the details of his own 
demise.

'Well, there was this witch who had to do 
everything I told her to. And she wanted me to 
fuck a whole lot of the best looking women in a 
castle to cast some spells, and we were going to 
do it inside a magician's tower where their 
menfolk wouldn't dare enter. But I had a better 
plan, and it worked out so well I ended up dying 
of starvation in the bottom of a cave without 
even being able to see a single ray of light, let 
alone a woman.'

Odin himself would fall off his throne laughing 
at such a tale -- nobody had ever been such an 
idiot before, not even Hagar the Hungless, who'd 
drunk so much ale one night he'd gone to sleep in 
the pig pen and woke up at daybreak to find 
himself lying in a pool of bloody ice. Aye, and 
with his cock at the other end of the pen being 
chewed between the teeth of his biggest sow. But 
on a measure of stupidity Hagar's mishap didn't 
even weigh in as a grain of wheat compared to the 
orders that Hal had given out. From now on, 
whenever the name of  Merlin was mentioned 
amongst wizards and warlocks they would all piss 
themselves laughing at the memory of the 
stupidest apprentice ever to don a magician's 
gown. There was no way, no way at all that things 
could be worse than they were. 

And just as he thought so, Hal's cock hardened, 
stiffened and reared up like a knight's lance 
being raised aloft at a joust.

"Fria, please, no. Not that, not now."

Hal's fingers tore open the top of his bag and 
felt inside. They found the vial, but not the 
cork which should have been stoppering the end of 
it. Somehow it had come loose as he'd been 
fighting his way across the pool and all the 
dragon sweat had leaked out. Leaked out into the 
sheepskin wrapping, through the sheepskin and the 
bag and into the pool. Where his body had touched 
it as he'd floundered through the water. Which 
was why he was now entering a state of raging 
arousal with no means of satisfying it except the 
one means at hand --  his own hand. A relief he 
would have to use over and over again every time 
he attempted to cross the pool.

So now he couldn't even die peacefully of 
starvation. He couldn't even talk in the 
afterlife of being tricked into death by a witch. 
No, what Hal was going to have to confess to the 
assembled multitudes in eternity that he was the 
first male ever to masturbate himself off the 
mortal coil. The first case ever of a boy who 
beat himself to death with his own club. He, Duke 
Merlin, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, was going to be 
entered into Heaven's Roll as the biggest wanker 
of all time. In a Valhalla full of heroes who had 
fallen on their own swords, he was going to be 
renowned as the numb nut who committed suicide by 
falling on his own prick. Great!

Hal stared into the complete curtain of 
surrounding blackness, sighed, and spoke to 
himself: "Well, if I do go blind, at least it 
won't matter now."

But what he was really pissed off about was that 
he hadn't given Mary Gorlas a good seeing to when 
he'd had the chance. Oh Odin, the sight of her 
huge tits falling out of her torn dress and the 
feel of them in his hands. If only he'd known he 
was going to die next day he'd have had her there 
and then. . . Hal's fingers worked against his 
tightly drawn shaft as he dreamed about what 
might have been. If only he could be there in the 
hall again, he'd sit down on the King's own high 
chair with Mary impaled on his lap, shaking her 
fat bum at all the assembled aristocrats and her 
gigantic teats bouncing in his face . . .

Or if he'd known how to work that levitation 
spell properly, like Morgana could, he'd have 
arranged Mary floating at waist height, face down 
and  hanging onto the edge of the table as he 
took her from behind with her udders swinging 
around underneath every which way . . . Oh Gods! 
What a chance he'd missed!

Somewhere in the back of Hal's mind a voice 
spoke, small but clear. Hadn't Morgana said 
something about him being responsible for lifting 
Mary off the floor? That somehow he'd been able 
to expand and use the levitation spell that 
Morgana had created? And hadn't she insisted that 
he had the makings of being a great magician -- 
could there be any truth at all in that? Or had 
she just been totally bullshitting him?

And what about all her words about sex and magic 
being connected? Certainly, he was in no position 
to do any fucking right now but if just thinking 
about sex was any help the dragon sweat certainly 
had him in the right frame of mind. Was there any 
chance of maybe using magic to help himself in 
this situation. And, if there was, what did he 
want?

That was easy, what he really wanted a female to 
fuck. But creating a girl out of thin air was 
probably not the sort of thing he should try for 
his first attempt at magic. Even if he could do 
it, you wouldn't want to stick your cock into the 
first result, not in the dark without any idea of 
what you'd actually made. Even Hagar the 
Hungless's sow might be a sexy good looker in 
comparison.

No, light of some kind. That was what he most 
needed, here and now. Wasn't what that one of the 
things the Christian monks used to read from 
their book? Yes, that was it, that was one of 
their sayings, <i>'let there be light'. And their 
god was called Jesus Christ, so maybe Hal should 
pray to him as he tried to make light.

But how to do that? Especially as he couldn't 
stop wanking himself off and his mind was full of 
pictures of a gasping, shrieking Mary Gorlas.

All right, he was tupping Mary, and she was on 
her back on the dining hall in the great hall and 
a brilliantly strong light was shining down into 
the hall -- the roof had disappeared, a summer 
sun was directly overhead, not a cloud in the 
sky, the sun was getting bigger, getting closer, 
the rays were pouring down, filling the room with 
a light that was so bright, brighter than anybody 
had ever seen, as bright as the rainbow bridge 
that led to the home of the Gods . . .

There was a kind of a popping noise and a big fat 
spark shot out from the slit of Hal's straining 
prick, hit the tunnel roof, bounced off it, hit 
the cavern wall, shot away like a falling star, 
hit the opposite wall, flew off again at a crazy 
angle, slammed down into the pool and disappeared 
in a puff of steam.

"Jesus Christ!" Hal gasped. The shock had been so 
complete that for that second he'd even forgotten 
about Mary Gorlas's body.

He realized immediately that it was a turning 
point in his life. For the first time ever, Hal 
had totally impressed himself by his own 
abilities. After all, there he was, only an 
ordinary shit pot cleaner, and it turned out that 
all the time he'd had some kind of a raging 
thunderstorm swinging around between his legs.

What about those nights at the tavern when Karl 
the Head House Carl had filled himself up with 
ale and proved it by bending over in front of a 
candle and letting loose a fart which burst into 
a jet of flame? Hadn't he impressed the shit out 
of everybody? By Odin, the next time he tried it 
Hal would laugh, pull out his cock and jerk off a 
shower of sparks to go flying around the taproom. 
That would leave high and mighty Karl with his 
breeks and his jaw hanging down.

Fucking right, Hal might only be a poor surf but 
what was being poor when you had more lightning 
in your donger than Thor had in his hammer? If 
that wasn't a trick that got you invited to 
parties, what would? And wait until he showed 
Josephine, she'd go white and orange spots with 
laughing at a human coming it the flame throwing 
dragon!

But, impressive as it was, a single spark wasn't 
going to get him out of the Devil's Arsehole. He 
needed something different. So what by Fria's 
skirts could he do now to create a sustained 
light. Think of a girl, think of fucking her, 
think of light. But maybe a different girl -- or 
girls. Maybe two cunts were better than one . . . 
the riding net, with Chelinde and Caelia.

Which one had he had first -- Caelia, that was 
right, jammed in between him and the dragon's 
belly, with Chelinde scratching his balls as he 
rammed her sister. Oh, Fria, it had been so good, 
as good as being a god himself. The sky, the sun, 
the suns, all around the dragon, all beaming so 
brightly as he fucked Caelia, all lighting up 
every strand of her hair, every freckle, 
reflecting back from her eyes. . .

A pearl of glittering light popped out of his 
cock this time, an tiny incandescent pearl which 
floated upwards as lightly and erratically as a 
butterfly. But as small as it was, it lit up the 
mud ring and the nearer part of the pool water. 
Overhead, the blackness became speckled again 
from the minerals reflecting in the rising light. 

"That must be what they call ball lightning," Hal 
giggled, as near his wit's ends as any village 
idiot. And then the drifting bead of light winked 
out like a closing eye.

"Oh, shit!"

This was no good. He needed something which would 
glow like a candle long enough to crawl out of 
this stinking cave -- and if ever he did, he'd be 
into Josephine's riding nets and away over the 
mountains quicker than a fiddler's elbow playing 
at a wedding. But not until he'd fucked Dairy 
Mary Gorlas first. Hal seized his cock even more 
firmly and then found himself distracted even 
from the pressing need for self release by 
something impossible. For he could hear voices 
singing -- female voices!

By the Gods, the Valkyries themselves were coming 
to bear him up to Valhalla and singing a chorus 
of heavenly music as they arrived.

"We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig in a mine the 
whole day through
To dig dig dig dig dig dig dig is what we like to 
do."

Huh! This was the sort of song the Gods sang?

No, of course not. There was one dominating voice 
pitched pure and clear above the others and Hal  
was certain it was Morgana's. She was leading the 
women into the cave and encouraging them to sing 
to keep up their spirits. But where she'd learnt 
the song, the Gods alone knew -- certainly Hal 
had never heard anything like it sung in these 
parts. But it had a nice tune to it. And Hal had 
spent enough time working around high born 
females' apartments to know that many of them, 
surprisingly, had a rather wry sense of humor. 
Probably a necessary survival trait because even 
the worst of the aristocratic dames and damsels 
didn't seem to deserve the sort of so called 
noblemen they had to live with.

Whatever, the approaching voices were singing 
along with Morgana as lustily as the crowd 
following the ale cart back from the fields on 
the last day of harvest gathering.

"It ain't no trick
To get mud quick
If you dig dig dig
With a shovel or a pick
In a mine (In a mine)
In a mine (In a mine).
Where a million diamonds
Shine."

Light was suddenly flooding the far bend of the 
cave and figures came around it. Female figures, 
each carrying a yoke pole with wooden buckets 
hanging from them. Each pole was also carrying 
something else as well, halfway between each 
bucket rope and the shoulder yoke, and that 
something was a glass lantern with a burning 
candle inside it. For fuck's sake, all the effort 
he'd put into getting Morgana to give him some 
magical means of lighting the cave and he'd never 
even thought to just ask for a couple of top 
quality lanterns.

And what would Morgana do to him when she 
discovered he'd already spilt the entire vial of 
dragon sweat? Even Hal's raging lust couldn't 
entirely douse his fear about the answer to that 
question. Morgana was likely to leave him 
underground and bound like Loki the fallen god, 
with serpent's poison dripping into his face 
forever more. 

And then Hal forget everything else as he saw how 
clear was each curved silhouette between each 
pair of lanterns -- silhouettes with nothing on 
to protect their naked charms from his gloating 
eyes. By the Gods, the witch must have warned the 
gentlewomen against spoiling their fine clothes 
in the mud and told them to them to strip off at 
the cave entrance. And they'd done it!

"Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho
It's off to work we go."

Overhead, the colored stones above the pool began 
glittering again in the approaching lights. There 
were so many women, so many lanterns, the cave 
was filling up with light. And there, leading 
them, as completely naked as her companions, was 
Morgana. But as desirable as her body usually 
was, there was something disconcerting about it 
this time. Perhaps because of the tiny bubble of 
pure light which hung above her head and stayed 
in that position, moving as she did. Even in his 
dragon sweat induced passion Hal wondered if the 
witch had created the light in any way akin to 
his own unexpected experiments.

"We dig up mudpies
By the score
A thousand shovel fulls,
Sometimes more
We don't know what we dig them for
We dig dig  . . ."

The voices trailed as Morgana stopped leading the 
song. The witch had halted at the barrier of rock 
holding back the pool.

"Take the buckets off the yokes, ladies. Just 
reach out and take the handles in your hands. And 
don't hesitate, no matter what happens around 
you."

The woman standing behind Morgana was a sulky 
faced young wife called Sirit Plunketburg. Her 
dark hair was piled high on top of her head and 
hung down her back like a horse's tail, her tits 
were as perky and pointed as brass candle 
snuffers, the black bush between her legs matched 
her hair coloring and every hair was damp curled 
from the pools she'd already waded through. But 
the most arousing thing about Mistress 
Plunketburg was the way she screeched in alarm as 
she lifted the buckets off her yoke and the ropes 
which had been supporting them wrapped themselves 
around her wrists. Around and around, in a 
tangled mass, as if each rope was trying to 
strangle itself , the buckets falling discarded 
to the cave floor, then lying there. And when the 
bucket ropes finally finished moving as well, 
both of Sirit's wrists were securely tied up 
against the ends of the yoke pole still resting 
on her shoulders.

In which matter, she had been served out exactly 
as all her companions had been. The whole row of 
them were now lashed to their shoulder poles -- 
in fact, they were all yoked like oxen to their 
yokes.

"Grrrr . . . " Hal's eyes were bulging almost as 
much as his cock at the sight and sound of the 
women calling out for explanations. Morgana's 
response was a snarl of anger.

"Be quiet, you bitches. You'll find out what's 
happening bye and bye."

She pointed to Plunketburg. "Step forward to 
these rocks, climb up them and into the pool. 
Don't worry about your weight, just grab the ends 
of your yoke and it will help lift you up."

By all the Gods, but the witch was right. Indeed, 
it was much as Hal had already seen before, when 
Morgana had used her broken broomstick to keep 
from drowning in the moat. Now the pole across 
Sirit's shoulders seemed possessed of the same 
uplifting power, for as she held onto the wooden 
ends the woman seemed able to step up over the 
pile of rocks as if they scarcely more obstacle 
than a stairway. 

Hal noted with great joy that the sneering 
expression on the young wife's face had turned to 
one of astonishment and fear. But not as 
astonished and afraid as she was going to be 
within seconds. And she had no idea of all how 
much pleasure a certain hidden watcher gained 
from watching Sirit being forced down by 
Morgana's remorseless hands pressing on the 
wife's shoulder pole, which suddenly seemed to 
have become as heavy as lead instead of lighter 
than air.

"Bend forward, your face in the mud and your 
knees on either side of the stream."

Mistress Plunketburg had no choice but to comply. 
She sprawled forward, one cheek resting on the 
mire as she struggled to keep her nose and mouth 
clear, the thin trickle of water which ran over 
the rocky barrier directly beneath her body, her 
knees deep in the mud on either side of the tiny 
stream.

Hal's lungs felt as if they'd stopped breathing 
and would never start again as Morgana also knelt 
down, onto one knee, directly behind Sirit 
Plunketburg. The witch dabbled her fingers in the 
clear water of the stream. Then lifted them up 
into the light of the lanterns still burning on 
the yoke.

"By the power invested in me by the Great Ones, I 
Morgana le Faye, declare you a sister in this 
coven assembled under the auspices of Actaeon, 
the horned one." 

Morgana's damp fingers were up between Sirit's 
opened thighs, stroking the lips of the noble 
born  female's sex as she cast her spell. There 
was a faint spurt of mud from underneath Mistress 
Plunketburg's fallen tresses as the woman made an 
involuntary shout out of her half buried mouth.

"Until this coven dissolves, your duty as a 
sister is to think only of men, of being 
pleasured by them and of pleasuring them in any 
way they desire. You will think of nothing else, 
you will care for nothing else. Walk into the 
pool and wait."

Hal felt like screeching himself as he fought 
like a demon to take his hand off his cock until 
there should be female flesh ready to appease it. 
But never in his life had he needed to struggle 
so hard, especially when Sirit was more or less 
lifted up by her yoke pole and then waded out 
into the water until she was up to her waist in 
it, her eyes shining wide in the lamps hanging 
from the pole she was carrying. Whether by the 
power of Morgana's incantations or by that of the 
dragon sweat spilt in the pool, some kind of a 
strong mood had certainly been aroused in Sirit's 
breast. In fact, in both her breasts, if the 
state of her nipples were anything to judge by.

Probably it was fear of Morgana's likely reaction 
to anything which would spoil the ceremony which 
enabled Hal to take his fingers away from his 
shaft. Fear, and the fact that his body was no 
longer wet from the pool water. And, perhaps 
above all, that he had to sense to close his eyes 
as the rest of the women were each dealt with in 
the same way by Morgana, as briskly and 
impersonally as a shepherd dosing a flock of 
sheep. Time after time it happened, usually 
accompanied by feminine cries of outrage, and Hal 
knew he could not have watched even one more 
woman being inducted into the coven without 
sending a jet of spunk shooting through the damp 
air.

Instead, he tried to find something else to think 
about and lit on the inspired choice of the 
question of who was going to have to empty out 
the castle shit pots now that the previous pot 
emptier had been elevated to the rank of a 
resident magician. And since he was that magician 
Hal could select anybody he liked to haul the 
turd receptacles around, even one of the high 
class sons and squires who had made his own life 
such a misery when he was the resident shit boy. 
The only problem was in deciding which of the 
young arseholes most merited the humiliation, and 
it was such an almost impossible yet pleasing 
puzzle to solve that it nearly took Hal's mind 
off the squeals and cries coming from the other 
side of the pool.

But no mortal male could hope to avert his eyes 
from such scenes for long. And when Hal looked 
again the array of lanterns stretched across the 
far side of the pool revealed a scene stranger 
than his eyes could readily accept. A mass of 
naked women, standing waist deep in the black 
depths of the pool, all with their bodies 
streaked with mud and with their mouths hanging 
open as they bellowed like cows with full udders 
waiting to be milked: an idea compounded by the 
sight of a rank, no by the Gods, two ranks of 
quivering tits. Small ones, pointy ones, just 
right for a handful ones, tits that hung down 
like overfilled saddlebags, tits high borne and 
perky, big tits and a pair of monster sized tits 
with Mary Gorlas standing behind them. 

And just like the other women, her eyes were wide 
open, and she was wailing in despair, tugging in 
vain at the ropes at her wrist. Actions which 
were perfectly understandable to Hal, knowing 
what mind tearing frustration the females must be 
suffering because they couldn't use their fingers 
to relieve the all enveloping lust whipped up by 
the dragon sweat in the pool. If the witch's 
intention was to raise as much excitement and 
frustrated desire in the coven as possible, she 
was certainly going the right way about it.

Come to think of it, where was Morgana? And, as 
an aside, since the only light inside the cave 
was coming from the lamps the women had brought 
in, where was Ymir? There was no sign of the 
shining beetle now, so where . . .

Hal heard a strange chittering sound, echoed by 
another bouncing off the cave walls, as if 
animals were calling to each other by gnashing 
small sets of teeth. Two otters appeared on top 
of the fallen rocks, both pure white, and both 
far bigger than any otters Hal had ever seen 
before. They slithered down the rocks and across 
the mud without a speck of it marring their 
pristine furs, then vanished into the dark water. 
There was no doubt at all the creatures were 
Morgana and Ymir in yet other transformations.

For about a second Hal was completely puzzled, 
before he remembered what Ymir had done to 
Morgana in Josephine's drinking trough. Could it 
be  . . . 

Maid Kendra Hundt, seventeen or so, betrothed to 
a knight from Lyonesse, wide open blue eyes, a 
mass of blonde curls on her head, and suddenly 
shrieking as if the pool water around her body 
had somehow come to the boil. Arms dipping madly 
from side to side, head thrown back, her body 
shuddering so violently that Kendra's neat little 
plumpers were slapping against each other like 
applauding hands.

Hal might have been the first to realize what was 
happening, because he'd seen it done before, but 
the white backs of the otters broke the surface 
often enough for the other women to quickly 
realize that the otters were positioned in front 
and behind Kendra. And if at first they believed 
the animals were attacking the girl, they soon 
realized from her rising cries of ecstasy that 
she was being tongued, not bitten. Tongued very 
expertly in the warm water from both directions. 
Being tongued and lifted to a state of passion 
Maid Kendra's Lyonesse lover had never come with 
a giant's step of achieving for her.

As the watchers' understanding  of the situation 
developed a chorus of feminine excitement and 
wails of envy echoed over the pool. Two of the 
oldest, Rowena Aelfgar and Felice Oxhead, stepped 
back onto the mud bank. Hal watched in a state of 
near disbelief as fat Felice dropped on her back 
and spread her legs wide. Tall, slender Rowena 
knelt down, bent forward from her waist, took her 
weight on her elbows and forearms and crawled 
awkwardly over the prostrate body of Mistress 
Oxhead. Within seconds Mistress Aelfgar's bottom 
was twitching frantically as Felice licked her 
cunt and Rowena returned the favor between 
Felice's thick thighs. 

"Odin!" 

Hal couldn't, just couldn't stop himself from 
putting his fingers on his prick. His fingertips 
at least. Because as soon as they touched the hot 
flesh sparks flew up and down the entire length 
from balls to head.

"Bloody hell . . . " His fingers were tingling as 
if he'd caught a hard flung stone in them. "What 
the fuck?"

On the other side of the pool the otters had 
emerged to nip at Felice and Rowena's toes, 
biting hard enough to draw blood and to force the 
women to stand up and apart again. Both of them 
wailed with frustration like starving wolves.

Another pearl of light sprang out from the tip of 
Hal's shaft. Bigger and even more brilliant than 
the first one. But this time it didn't rise. It 
hung over the top of his cock in exactly the same 
way as the light above Morgana's head stayed in 
the same place. Hal stared at his most intimate 
piece of anatomy in total bewilderment, wondering 
whether he still had any control over it at all. 
Then he lifted up his eyes in response to a 
squeal which somehow sounded familiar.

Morgana and Ymir were both nuzzled up to Mary 
Gorlas, behind and in front, and both licking her 
where the sensation was most felt. Mary was 
jumping around as if she was a puppet with a 
dozen lunatics all pulling on her strings at 
once. As for her outsized udders, it seemed 
impossible that so much flesh could swing around 
so much without something tearing loose. What the 
girl desperately needed was a pair of steadying 
hands.

It was an idea which had an impact on Hal's mind 
like poking an hedgehog with a stick. His 
thoughts  seemed to curl up into a tiny ball and 
the brilliant bead hovering above his lap spread 
out into a bright white hollow ring which 
completely encircled the head of his cock. 

"Fur Fria's sake . . ." Hal mumbled, again 
completely astonished at what was happening, let 
alone what was causing it

The boy was suddenly aware of how the grunting 
and cries inside the smelly interior of the 
Devil's Arsehole had died away. It was like the 
audience of a mummer's play suddenly becoming 
lost in a dreamworld as the gaudily dressed 
actors stepped out onto the stage. Only this time 
the audience was all looking at him. Twelve women 
and two otters. All staring at the straining cock 
with the halo of shining light around it which 
had suddenly appeared in the dark shadows on the 
other side of the pool. And the first thing Hal 
noted about this audience was that the eyes of 
the women staring at his prick were much beadier 
and more animal like than those belonging to the 
otters.

"Huh . . . hello, ladies. Huh . . . this week 
hasn't turned out at all like I expected it too. 
Have you noticed that as well?"

THE END