THIS IS A GOOD EXAMPLE WHERE A WELL HUNG BUT MORE "NORMAL" SIZE COCK AND BALLS - WITHOUT THE LOIN CLOTH - MIGHT HAVE INCREASED THE EROTACISM RATHER THAN JUST BE A POSSIBLE DISTRACTION.
The colossal giant stood atop a small mound. His massive muscles shone with sweat. The loin cloth was pitifully inadequate to conceal his monstrous cock! It constantly demanded attention from a hand or a warm mouth. Zorgan was not to know that his shaft of lust and passion would attract attention that would leave him crazed with lust and helplessness................
Thrommauk looked down into the valley, as the sounds of the 200 men in orgy continued on behind him. He was done raping warriors this night, even though his mighty cock could still fuck dozens more holes were he to try. But Thrommauk was caught in far more important considerations than merely celebrating the conquest of yet another warrior tribe.
He stared over the valley, past the hills towards where his home tribe, the Felsh, still dwelled. It had been over 7 years since he was exiled. While many exiles from the noble Felshor would disappear, Thrommauk would not lose his birthright among the most noble, strong and powerful men of the land. He must regain the respect and honor held by his brothers, his teacher and his great warrior captain Guruk.
With the mighty Braehorn Warriors now conquered by the thick cocks of Thrommauk and his men, he knew now he was ready to return to the Felsh.
He had raped thousands of men over these years in exile. Brutal force fucks of each great warrior done in the honor of regaining his name among the Felsh. Sexual conquest was the only respected conquest in this vast world of men. A warrior who has fucked an entire nation surely is worthy of the lore of the Felshor.
Tribe by tribe he fed their holes his powerful spray of seed, impregnating them with his noble Felsh sperm. And his band grew into a great marauding tribe, hungry for he muscular flesh of men and their potent, easily torn asses.
But while battles and rape were now deep in his blood, Thrommauk craved his village and the amazing men there. The scale and size of their muscle, like his own, was greater than any man he had met in all his travels. Their mighty, god-like cocks were ever hard and sprayed rivers of hot, delicious man sperm. There were no other men among whom he'd rather dwell.
And with the fall of the Braehorn, he knew he had made his name legend enough to return to the Felsh.
Yet would they recognize him? Would his dear, ever-horny brothers recall him?
Thrommauk stood on that hill all evening, while the rape-filled party of celebration roiled on behind him, and planned his return. He would need to cut his hair; the Felsh valued not the long hair of the tribals.
And this outfit he wore - so much clothing! The Felsh did not ever insult their beauty by covering their bodies as much as Thrommauk was covered now. The ridiculous loincloth he first wore as a sign of political diplomacy, so the tribes of the South might self-subjugate their mouths and holes to his band of huge, muscular men. He hated this overdressed appearance - he was raised far more proud than this. The Felsh not only saw such covering weak, but actually sacrilegious to their massively-hung, mighty gods! His tremendous Felshor cock never even fit underneath it anyway.
He would shave his hair, and discard all these foreign, peasant raiments, and hen return to his Felsh tribes. Perhaps he would face mass rape, or perhaps his conquests will prove he is true Felsh after all.
It was Thrommauk's time. He knew this standing there. He would head West in the morning.
But now, there were hundreds of conquered Breahorn asses which needed to be shown who their new tribe king was. Without mercy. THe Felshor way . . .
Groan! This warrior is SEXXXXXXY!
ReplyDeleteTHIS IS A GOOD EXAMPLE WHERE A WELL HUNG BUT MORE "NORMAL" SIZE COCK AND BALLS - WITHOUT THE LOIN CLOTH - MIGHT HAVE INCREASED THE EROTACISM RATHER THAN JUST BE A POSSIBLE DISTRACTION.
ReplyDeleteThe colossal giant stood atop a small mound. His massive muscles shone with sweat. The loin cloth was pitifully inadequate to conceal his monstrous cock! It constantly demanded attention from a hand or a warm mouth.
ReplyDeleteZorgan was not to know that his shaft of lust and passion would attract attention that would leave him crazed with lust and helplessness................
He groaned softly as the loin cloth kept flapping in the breeze and rubbing against his huge rigid cock..........
ReplyDeletewe NEED to see this guy get screwed!!! Please!!! lol
ReplyDeleteThrommauk looked down into the valley, as the sounds of the 200 men in orgy continued on behind him. He was done raping warriors this night, even though his mighty cock could still fuck dozens more holes were he to try. But Thrommauk was caught in far more important considerations than merely celebrating the conquest of yet another warrior tribe.
ReplyDeleteHe stared over the valley, past the hills towards where his home tribe, the Felsh, still dwelled. It had been over 7 years since he was exiled. While many exiles from the noble Felshor would disappear, Thrommauk would not lose his birthright among the most noble, strong and powerful men of the land. He must regain the respect and honor held by his brothers, his teacher and his great warrior captain Guruk.
With the mighty Braehorn Warriors now conquered by the thick cocks of Thrommauk and his men, he knew now he was ready to return to the Felsh.
He had raped thousands of men over these years in exile. Brutal force fucks of each great warrior done in the honor of regaining his name among the Felsh. Sexual conquest was the only respected conquest in this vast world of men. A warrior who has fucked an entire nation surely is worthy of the lore of the Felshor.
Tribe by tribe he fed their holes his powerful spray of seed, impregnating them with his noble Felsh sperm. And his band grew into a great marauding tribe, hungry for he muscular flesh of men and their potent, easily torn asses.
But while battles and rape were now deep in his blood, Thrommauk craved his village and the amazing men there. The scale and size of their muscle, like his own, was greater than any man he had met in all his travels. Their mighty, god-like cocks were ever hard and sprayed rivers of hot, delicious man sperm. There were no other men among whom he'd rather dwell.
And with the fall of the Braehorn, he knew he had made his name legend enough to return to the Felsh.
Yet would they recognize him? Would his dear, ever-horny brothers recall him?
Thrommauk stood on that hill all evening, while the rape-filled party of celebration roiled on behind him, and planned his return. He would need to cut his hair; the Felsh valued not the long hair of the tribals.
And this outfit he wore - so much clothing! The Felsh did not ever insult their beauty by covering their bodies as much as Thrommauk was covered now. The ridiculous loincloth he first wore as a sign of political diplomacy, so the tribes of the South might self-subjugate their mouths and holes to his band of huge, muscular men. He hated this overdressed appearance - he was raised far more proud than this. The Felsh not only saw such covering weak, but actually sacrilegious to their massively-hung, mighty gods! His tremendous Felshor cock never even fit underneath it anyway.
He would shave his hair, and discard all these foreign, peasant raiments, and hen return to his Felsh tribes. Perhaps he would face mass rape, or perhaps his conquests will prove he is true Felsh after all.
It was Thrommauk's time. He knew this standing there. He would head West in the morning.
But now, there were hundreds of conquered Breahorn asses which needed to be shown who their new tribe king was. Without mercy. THe Felshor way . . .
All your artwork is excellent....keep up the good work..I spend hours edging to your blog...WOOF
ReplyDelete