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You gamble on open doors meaning empty rooms. You push off the post and shamble forward you have to lean against the near wall glimpsing to see the head of a young-woman bob upon the cock of a naked man. He seems more interested in draining his flagon to notice you, as you see his sweat-covered chest glisten in the candlelight.

You almost envy the portly, fair-haired girl dragging her tongue along his manhood, moaning out sweet nothings as drink runs down his chin.

But you swallow your latent desires for a more normal life, down and push forward.

When you reach the final door you discover it empty and sigh in relief. You see a group of men stuffing slick pricks back into their trousers as they file out of a room at the other end of the hall and thank the goddess that she guided you in the right direction.

As you light the candle and let the fabric fall over your bust, once more, you allow your eyes to look across the hall and through the wide-open door.

You see a massive pillar of pale-brown swine driving into the soft flesh of one of Thomas' tavern girls. His tree-trunk forearms are looped through the back of her knees, and his hands together behind her head. She's completely at his mercy, her toes are curled in pleasure. as her face stares at the floor.

He lowers her to meet his thrusting, tapered prick her flesh yielding easily all-the-way down to meet his rigid sheath. Her ample bosom swaying in perfect circular motions. You look at his apple-sized seed creators, rocking up and down inside his smooth. oddly hairless pouch.

His eyes lock onto you, even as she roars in continuous orgasm, feminine fluids falling onto the floor in thin, sheets, like well-boiled sugar ready to become fudge. He smiles at you as he thrusts into her at maximum depth rocking himself back and forth to meet her. You watch his organ churn as if pumping water from the deepest well, seeing seed as white as pearls slide out of her quim, to be wasted on the floor. You continue watching, porcine-orcish races are southern creatures, what is one doing here? The wafting smell of manhood catches your nose and you feel your femininity palpate in desire.

That is until the pain of wax hitting your fingers pulls you back to reality. You remember your modesty and close the door, in time to see her lose control of herself and spill urine upon the floor her body limp in his hands. Her mouth babbling in audible nothingness.

You see him lick his snout as he burns a hole through you, the door swinging closed being the only reprieve from his gaze.

You recover from the journey, lighting the lantern above the bed, before blowing out the candle and letting yourself collapse upon it. You remember what comfort is as the pillow supports your neck.

You want to wash in the basin of water nearby but you don't have any more strength to devote to the task and simply allow sleep to take you.