"Time is not our friend,"

you whisper down to your lover, worried what your captors will do should they find you compromised like this. "Much as I would like you to remain twixt my legs forever - ahhh! - our other 'companions' may intervene. You'd best, uh, finish quickly." Kissing his head, still bowed to your chest and giving you that delightful feeling in your breasts, you draw him in with your embrace and clutch him tighter with your grasping legs for encouragement.

Hand and fingers still on your tender nipple, he raises his head to kiss you with passion. Your tongues meet urgently while soft moans, whimpers and grunts of effort, or pain from your injuries fill the air around you. His pace builds, thrusting faster but each time deeper and with more power than before. Your bottom, now upturned to meet his savage angle, is slick with juices from your dripping sex. He barely withdraws now, grinding his groin into yours and fiercely rubbing your ecstatic clit, every jerking thrust seeks your depths a fraction more until his cock can go no further and moments later he explodes within you, hot seed filling your defiled womb with loving, natural, human life.

The thought that it is a daemon's child you carry and not his brings a flood of tears to your eyes at the same time as your orgasm bursts, countless powerful surges of energy that course through you. You mumble prayers, half-formed, to the goddess and clutch Ramos' body ever tighter. He slackens against you, spent.

As the golden haze of orgasm recedes, you can ignore the searing pain in your shoulder no longer. The aching bruises left by the battle also are beginning to flare again. Much as you'd like him to stay where he is, you cannot bear it for long.

"Ramos," you hiss through gritted teeth, "please, my shoulder-"

With hasty concern, he shuffles himself off you; awkward all-fours clambering that bumps and nudges your injuries. It is all you can do to keep from crying out, and when his cock is sharply withdrawn from your holy place you cannot suppress a sob. Gradually he settles down beside you, trying to maintain some degree of intimacy despite the pair of you being laid out on the hard forest floor in chains. You are able to adjust yourself, uncurling from the arse-up position in which the two of you finished to lie flat once more and minimise the strain on your dislocated shoulder. Your hand finds his and, with fingers entwined, you settle into the silence of the forest once more.

Looking over at the campfire, the orcs have not stirred at all. Dawn is close, but they obviously have little cause for urgency now that you are in their clutches. Ramos helps to get your filthy, ruined stockings back on to preserve your modesty when the foul beasts awake, before sheathing his beautiful prick. Exhausted by your escapade, the pair of you nestle against each other and drift off for as much sleep as the orcs will allow.