Of course not.

You awake with a start. Something is wrong. There is something uncomfortable in your mouth, and you feel a chill on your skin. You look around. The fire has died down, but that is not the only reason for the cold: your blanket has gone. You are lying, completely naked, on Ramos' bedroll. You attempt to shout but find you cannot. Your arms, you realise, are immovable, tied together at the wrists by the small of your back. You struggle for a moment, before a heavy presence appears behind you, an almost silent shhh! in your ear, and Tully's hand holding a wickedly curved blade appears before your eyes. You quiesce and lie still. He whispers, still almost inaudible.

"Silence, bitch, or your pretty little throat will spill its blood over my blade. Understand?" You nod, trembling. "Is it true all you sisters are virgins?" You hesitate. Many are not, after yesterday morning. Yourself among them. He does not appreciate your delay. "Answer me!" You nod again. "Well I guess it's my lucky night, then. And not yours. Remember: silence!"

He pushes you onto your front and sits atop your firm buttocks. His weight is inescapable. You hear the muffled sound of his pulling down his breeches, and then he shifts again. You feel his callused fingers pry roughly between your thighs and rub against your sex. Almost instantly, your recently deflowered hole responds and slicks itself. The feeling is wonderful and your legs part themselves to allow him more access. You curse your weakness, wondering if the daemon's seed in your womb is the source of your newfound lust, and silently pray to the goddess... hearing nothing but silence in response to your plea.

He has his fingers inside you now, and another on your sensitive button. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, drenching his hand and your inner thighs. Then, cruelly, he stops. You squirm beneath him, begging for his touch again, but instead he places first one leg between yours, and then another. He spreads you wide with his knees. Your treacherous legs offer no resistance, and instead of his fingers you feel something altogether fatter pressing against your quivering quim.

"You want it, don't you, you holy little slut?" You nod and shake your head at the same time, trying to close your legs but keeping them open; trying to pull your groin away from his cock yet also trying to push back and sink his length inside you. Your head-shaking subsides leaving only a frantic nod, and that is all the answer he needs.

He plunges into your dripping cunt with one full thrust. He pushes one hand roughly between your shoulder blades, shoving your chest and face to the floor and causing your hips to turn up towards him. His second thrust comes in at a different angle, pressing upwards against your inner walls and bumping against your womb. His heavy balls slap quietly against your nub, sending jolts of pleasure out down your thighs and up your spine. His other hand now is planted by your face, smeared roughly as it is with the dirt of the cave floor. The dagger lies a few inches away, forgotten by both of you.

He thrusts, and thrusts. Heedless of your pleasure but giving much nonetheless. Every pumping thrust feels deeper than the last, stretching your inexperienced hole wider and wider, unknowingly glorifying the further ruination of your vows. It feels that you are in heaven; that all the years spent in the abbey training and in worship for a place beside the goddess in the afterlife are a cruel joke compared to the glorious pleasure that can be found like this - rutting like beasts in the dirt.

His throbbing cock feels ever bigger, and his jerking spasms are getting more and more frantic. Within moments you feel a pulsing torrent within you and his filthy seed floods against your cervix. That spurting warmth tips you over the edge and you tumble into an orgasmic haze, your limbs acting of their own accord; legs grasping behind your lover's buttocks to draw him deeper into you, neck twitching with the **** of your pleasure. He slumps down on top of you, spent. His arm stretches out for the dagger but he fumbles and instead sends it clattering away into the remains of the fire. He savagely licks the upturned side of your face - the one unmarred by mud - and whispers vile things to you about making you his whore, of filling you with his babies, of turning your holy body into his temple. He goes on and on, still spurting the occasional jet of his hot cum into you and giving you powerful aftershocks. You squirm still, trying to grind yourself against him for ever more delicious pleasure.

But suddenly, and with a squelching pop, he is withdrawn from your most holy place. His weight is lifted from your sprawled body, and you feel his seed flooding out from inside you. Rolling to your side and looking up, you see Tully on his knees, one arm bent violently upwards, with Ramos' dirk at his throat. The black man's eyes look you over, taking in your filthy appearance, lingering on your firm breasts and particularly on your ruined cunt and cum-slicked thighs, before jerking the blade smoothly across your lover's throat and sending a cascade of scarlet down the man's chest. He holds Tully for many moments as the man dies, frantically trying to grasp his killer for ****, but gradually his movements cease and Ramos drops him to the floor.

Your avenger looks at you sadly, wipes his blade on the dead man's jerkin, and cuts the bonds which keep your arms behind your back. You reach up to him, horrified at what has just transpired - by the ease with which you abandoned further protection of your lost chastity, by the wondrous sensations which still make their way through your body, and by the **** that you've just witnessed of the man that was inside you moments ago. He holds your slender body in his strong arms, reaches up to remove the filthy rag from your mouth, and comforts you as you sob into his chest.