In the meantime, he would enjoy Ashlyh’s body until she probably died from the pain and injury that he inflicted on her bowels from the constant bug...ery and rape. She hadn’t perished yet, though, so perhaps she was stronger than she made him think at first. He didn’t honestly care, either way. She was fuckmeat to him, a chattel, a plaything, nothing more, and if she lived long enough, he would simply sell her to the slavers for the pleasure houses of Lys.“Oh, cease your blubbering!” Gregor. Meanwhile, the mighty pens of the Raven transform into earrings and the printed out pages of his story for the contest wrap around him and form an attractive evening gown. His keyboard and mouse slide down to his feet and reshape themselves into a pair of four inch high heels. His living room transforms into a stage and Raven is surrounded by a multitude of young vibrant women in evening wear. His printer ink ribbon extends into a sash around his chest proclaiming him to the world as Miss. More

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