A show of endurance

The dwarves eagerly accepted the terms. Within moments, heavy leather belts clattered against the floorboards, and the raw, uninhibited reality of dwarven anatomy was laid bare on the table. But this was no mere exhibition. The emissary’s drunken smirk widened as he stepped forward, laying out the true nature of the challenge Agnes had set in motion.

“Aye, a grand inspection!” the emissary bellowed, his voice thick with competitive fire. “But a proper dwarven display requires a test of true stamina. A show of male endurance! We stand together, and the first to falter—the first to lose control and spill his seed - pays the ultimate forfeit!”

He reached into a iron-bound chest near the hearth, pulling out another ale mug, an empty one and placed it between all of us.

Agnes took her place at the head of the table, acting as the undisputed judge of the competition, her eyes scanning the lineup with a mix of flushed excitement and dominant focus. It must’ve been the ale, but my own aching fullness was almost impossible to ignore as I joined the row of brawny dwarves. The rules were simple, yet brutal: we were to bring ourselves to the absolute brink of release, pushed on by the heavy rhythm of the room and Agnes’s watchful gaze, but the man who lacked the discipline to hold back the tide would be **** to chug whatever filled that mug!

Roll the dice to determine the winner!

{roll d10}