Chapter Four

Once, Heinrich had been a twisted echo of a man, pale and shrunken, as if the world itself had beaten him into a broken pile of spare parts. Now he stood like a statue carved by god—the culmination of inequitable trades, cunning bargainings, and skillful surgeries that left no trace of imperfection.

The preacher’s spine now held him upright, straight as a pillar, lending a certain moral gravity to his stance. It was a spine people trusted—they couldn’t help it. When he looked them in the eye, they seemed to believe he’d never told a lie in his life.

From the town’s burgermeister, he had acquired a perfect set of gleaming teeth: even and white. When Heinrich smiled, it was the smile of a man already accustomed to winning. A politician’s grin.

His jaw, square and unyielding, came courtesy of the blacksmith whose anvil blows had forged his own bones into solid steel. That same iron-forged confidence sat like the foundations of a fortress beneath Heinrich’s skin now.

The thick, dark hair—oh, the hair—he’d coaxed from the best barber in Varnholt Valley, who had cultivated it like a prize rosebush. Heinrich had styled the dense locks into a sweeping, fashionable updo that invited touch without trying too hard.

Women adored it. Men resented their envy of it.

For his legs, he had taken the sturdy trunks of a lumberjack, all corded muscle and rooted strength, each step weighted with power. His torso bore a mountaineer’s sculpted abdominals, an eight-pack polished by years of climbing craggy peaks and countless stomach crunches.

And as for his voice… well, that had once belonged to a charming Casanova whose silver-tongued flattery had melted hearts from here to the border. Now, when Heinrich spoke, it was in that same warm, resonant timbre.

Irresistibly smooth and compelling.

Fashionably attired in fancy vestments stolen from a travelling dandy—garments tailored to flatter, yet straining to contain the bulky breadth of his new form—Heinrich pushed through the swinging doors of the Tart and Strudel, Varnholt Valley’s premier cathouse.

It was the sort of establishment where a rogue might lose his hat, his coin purse, and his sense of moral direction in the span of a single hour—and consider the evening well spent. Heavy beams crouched overhead like great oaken spars, stained with centuries of pipe smoke and whispered indiscretions. The wallpaper, once prim and floral, now looked faintly flushed, as though embarrassed to have witnessed so much.

Voices immediately hushed, and the pianist struck the wrong key before pausing in her playing to gape. Heads swiveled as he swaggered towards the bar. The cripple turned Adonis tugged at the ruffles adorning his white silk shirt, only half buttoned to reveal the cleft between his slab-like pectorals. The tight-fitting britches hugged a truly prodigious package that attracted feminine attention with the **** of a gravity well.

Then the frantic whispers began….

“Who is that?”

“Could he be Rodrigo reborn?”

“The… ahem, protrudence in those spanking tight pants would suggest…”

“Talk about spanking, he could spank me anytime!”

Women rushed in, giggles bubbling like champagne, brushing at his thick arms or boulder-esque shoulders as he passed. The ladies of ill repute all batted their lashes and fanned themselves with handkerchiefs–bedecked in well-worn ensembles of crochet wool and cheap lace that bared heaving bosoms and fathoms of long silky legs.

They flocked around Heinrich like half-plucked starlings, their painted faces rosy with interest and lusty anticipation. One particularly leggy specimen collapsed in a swoon when he winked at her.

Even Madame Zucht, the usually unflappable proprietor, adjusted her deeply scalloped neckline to flash more cushiony cleavage.

“H-how may I help you, handsome stranger?” The flustered madame inquired when he loomed over the liquor-stained bartop. “Mayhaps a drink to wash away the road dust? We can offer a hot bath if you are weary… or-or congenial company if you are not.”

The air itself seemed to hold its breath, while the loose moral fiber of the listening doxies unraveled like a poorly knitted sweater.

The men, sensing some unspoken defeat, slinked into the shadows, their ale tasting suddenly flat, already forgotten by their female companions. A cassock-clad hunchback made a break for the door with a lurching gait.

“This is a cathouse, yeah?” Heinrich replied in a tone so rich and sonorous he could hear the panties dropping. “I’m here for pussy… and a stein of your best lager. Thanks.”

Every trollop sighed as though he’d granted their most heartfelt desires–leaning on chairs, tables, and each other for support as their knees knocked and thighs churned. The scent of moist snatch surpassed the stench of pipe smoke, spilled beer, and eau de toilette which pervaded the tap room.

“Oh, good sir!” Madame Zucht exclaimed, fumbling for a glass and nearly dropping it in her haste to accommodate him. “Dashing sir. Strapping sir! Forgive an old landlady for asking, but a paragon of manly virility such as yourself has the means to pay for our solicitous services, yes?”

“Got your payment right here.” Unfastening his britches, Heinrich’s meaty cock slapped the bartop with a wood-splintering THWACK!

Only half-hard, it still covered the intervening distance to hang over the opposite edge–the super-stud’s superfluous shaft stiffening under the surrounding strumpets’ spellbound stares.

Madame Zucht gasped, her plump lips forming a perfect circle as Heinrich’s monstrous member lay there for all to see. The room seemed to quiver, the atmosphere thick with the scent of raw arousal. The women—no longer mere whores but feral creatures in heat—pressed closer, their skirts rustling like the wings of moths drawn to a flame.

One bold wench, a buxom redhead named Elsa, reached out with trembling fingers to stroke the veiny length, breath hitching when she felt the heat radiating from it.

“Sweet mercy,” she whispered, voice trembling. “It’s… It’s alive.”

Heinrich chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down spines. “Oh, it’s alive alright. And it’s angry. Fancy a shot at taming my beast?”

Elsa’s eyes widened, then she flung herself bodily onto the bar, lying flat on her stomach, delicate hands already working to angle the tip of his monstrous cock to her waiting lips. Tongue flicking out, she captured a bead of salty precum, inciting a loud moan.

The remaining tarts watched, rapt, some licking their chops, others clutching at their horny bodies as if they could hardly stand the wait.

Madame Zucht, ever the opportunist, clapped her hands sharply. “Ladies! Form a line! Let’s not waste the gentleman’s time—or our own!”

The women scrambled into a ragged queue, their giggles turning to guttural groans as Heinrich’s disastrous dick sank further into Elsa’s mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked urgently. With her body straight and neck extended, his turgid thickness slipped readily down her warm, wet throat.

Heinrich’s head tilted back, a grunt escaping him.

“That’s it,” he rumbled, voice thick with pleasure. “Take it all.”

Elsa obeyed, hoovering him down from her awkward position. Boldly seizing the reins, Heinrich began fucking the fetching redhead’s face with all his new strength. She gagged and slobbered appreciatively, saliva slickening his shaft until it glistened in the dim lamplight.

The other women shifted restlessly, their impatience growing unbearable. A whip-thin brunette named Greta stepped forward next, lifting her frilly skirts to reveal an already moist cunt. She pressed against Heinrich’s side, grinding against his leg as she watched Elsa ****.

“I can’t wait,” Greta whined, high and ****. “Please, sir, let me try charming that snake!”

Heinrich smirked, gripping her chin to twist her face up to his. “Patience, slut. You’ll get your chance.”

Greta whimpered but obeyed, smearing her sopping slit against his knee as she waited. A damp spot quickly formed on his stolen britches. Meanwhile, Madame Zucht plonked a foaming tankard in front of Elsa’s reddening face, blushing and preening like an innocent maiden half her age.

“Thank you for choosing my establishment, sir.” She simpered, resting a hand on the redhead’s skull to push her further down Heinrich’s gullet-plundering girth. “My girls tire of these provincial bumpkins and need a proper stud to put them in their place.”

The hiding menfolk groaned. Several fell to their knees as though kicked in the wedding tackle. Some crawled towards the door, cursing silently but unable to look away from the sordid spectacle.

Heinrich drained the stein in a few long pulls, groping the Madame’s huge MILF tits with his free hand before returning his focus to Greta.

“You’re next. Get that sweet ass up there.”

The willowy brunette didn’t need to be told twice. She clambered onto the bar, hiked her skirts up over slim hips, and straddled Elsa’s cock-skewered skull. Shaking her perky little butt invitingly, she splashed plentiful pussy juices on the gurgling doxy’s tear-streaked cheeks.

“No fair, no fair.” Protested an ivory-skinned short-stack boasting an abundance of curly midnight tresses. “Why is she next? I’m burning up over here!”

“Us too!” Cried two identically busty blondes–likely sisters. They yanked down flimsy bodices, flanking Heinrich and trapping his bulging biceps between their ripe melons. “How about it, handsome? Ever fucked twins before?”

Soon, the rest of the female audience was pushing and jostling for attention.

“No, me! Fuck me, pleeeease…”

“Over here, big boy! You can ride my fat ass like you stole it–”

“Feet! Are you into feet, mister? My tinkly winklies are the smallest, daintiest dick ticklers in the valley!”

“I’m very flexible and super into bondange. Tie my ankles behind my neck and make me squeal! I promise you’ll love it.”

“I don’t normally make this offer,” Madame Zucht purred, still guiding Elsa’s slobbering maw up and down his pistoning fuckpole. “But if sir wishes for a more mature, more experienced partner…”

They pressed in from all sides, shedding clothing and crying out for his notice. A sea of eager, increasing naked flesh breaking like waves upon the rocky bulwark of his hard-fucking body.

Heinrich stood at the center of everything, a colossus of carnal desire, his cock the focal point of their slavish worship. Greta mewled pitifully, twerking her cute caboose and shooting him smoky gazes over her shoulder.

“Don’t forget about me, sir. Pleeeease…” The lissome brunette begged, barely above a whisper. “I yearn to feel you inside me. Stretching out my tiny pussy.”

“Just need a minute.” He growled, his titanic turgidity twitching in the redhead’s distended neck, balls seizing. “Almost. There.”

“Glommff~! Hurk… urk!”

Elsa guttered and slurped, clearly cumming as she deep-throated Heinrich. He could smell her spreading puddle of girl cum, adding its mark to the stain-riddled bartop. Her constricting esophagus milked his tremendous tumescence thirstily, until he felt dizzy, then Madame Zucht gripped the shifting bulge in the greedy slut’s neck and squeezed…

“Seven hells!” Heinrich roared, shaking dust off the rafters as he exploded directly into her stomach.

“Mmmnnph~!”

A deluge of pearly spunk rushed out of him like a flash flood, stuffing the beautiful redhead’s belly and gullet until it ran from her nose in gloopy globules. The surrounding slatterns cried out in dismay. Fearful that they’d missed their chance and Heinrich would be spent after such a momentous eruption.

Their concerns were unwarranted.

Abruptly withdrawing from Elsa’s double-stuffed mouth, he spun a full circle, jacking his unflagging phallus and hosing the ecstatic crowd down with jet after copious jet of sticky seed before plunging straight into Greta’s sodden snatch, still cumming like a prize stallion.

“GODS YESSSS!!” The svelte strumpet screamed, her snug insides struggling to accept his invasive immensity. “YAAAAAAAH!!”

She nearly toppled off the bar from his first reckless thrust, caught at the last instant by Madame Zucht. The owner of the knocking shop clutched the younger, lither girl to her robust chest, steadying her and observing enviously.

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” Heinrich grunted. Using her quivering quim like a cock-sheath, he jammed the caterwauling tramp up and down his cunt-splitting corpulence at a breakneck pace. “Might have to come back later to really throw you around. So… goddam… tight!”

“THAAANNKYOOUUU!!”

“To be fair, richly endowed as you are, even the most worn-out working girl won’t exactly feel loose to you, hunky sir.” Madame Zucht observed sweetly. “Are you staying long in our humble valley?”

Her sugary tone starkly contrasted the molten hot eye-fucking she gave Heinrich. He laughed, glancing around at the moaning, writhing throng of cum-basted harlots.

“Oh yeah. Got important business to settle at the castle, then I’m planning to lay down some serious roots.”

His inexhaustible balls thrummed like two hydrogen bombs, primed to unleash a second potent payload as he considered what–and who awaited the return of the not-so-prodigal son.

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