Beg the troll for mercy

"Please," you gasp. "You can't. You are too big. You will kill me."

"No kill," Targ says. "Boss-man say, kill hoo-man, get no meat. Hoo-man scream -- good. Hoo-man cum -- much good, get much meat."

"Forget it," you say. "You'll never make me cum."

"That what all hoo-man say," Targ says with a chuckle, and you bite back a whimper as he rocks his huge bulk forward, his giant knob pressing against your hole, spreading that tight ring of muscles. You hold your breath, eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched as you wait for the tearing, the bleeding, the agony.

With an audible _pop _that echoes down the corridor, his bulbous cockhead slips past your sphincter, and you gasp in shock. It doesn't hurt. Targ grunts and thrusts deeper, and you moan as you feel each thick inch of his veined shaft sliding into your ass. You've never felt anything like this, never imagined that anything could feel so good. The sorcerer must have done something to you. You remember his smug words, ...a few spells I've been itching to try out. I won't tell you what they do, but you should figure it out shortly.

Evil bastard. Not that you're complaining, actually. Targ's grip on your neck eases, but you can't bring yourself to try to get away. In fact, your own cock has grown hard and aching. The troll grabs your hips, pulling you back as he rocks forward, and you see stars as he buries his entire length inside you.

"You like Targ meat, hoo-man?" he asks.