The giant of a man, hyper-muscular and barely fitting into his magically-enhanced clothing, picks your spasming body up, tossing your net-trapped form over one shoulder as the others flank him, swords drawn. Your huge, nine-foot tall body keeps flexing and jerking orgasmically as your oversized balls and cock throb with continuous release, spurting your thick, gooey cum between the ropes onto the grass and old leaves of the labyrinth again and again.
Each time you struggle more than your climaxing movements would allow, one of the men to your side pokes at you with the pointed end of their sword.
"Hey! Bull! Stop movin' or we'll be forced to do something drastic!"
"Yeah," says the other, "like spend the money to put you in a Hurricane Lamp and, then, take that cost outta yer hide once we reach the slave pens!"
"Rhinnes! Holme! Knock it off," the giant man says, growling in a deep voice. "He may be squirming like a trout, but I can handle it; the Elixir of the Ox will give us the edge until long after we get to Isthallion..."
The two men, cowed by the rebuke of their leader, scowled; one of them prods you with his sword for good measure.
"Fine, Ulther; you're the boss. Just don't blame me if his struggling sets him free..."
"That's not going to happen, Holme," Ulther responds to the sandy-haired swordsman. "Even if he did break free, Shara's playing would keep him enthralled."
"Yeah, but the net keeps him going..." Rhinnes interrupts. "What then?"
"The net only keeps him in a loop," Ulther snarls in an annoying voice. "Now shut up and do your job. If he does get out, you two have to deal with him!"
The final rebuke makes both men wince with its loudness.
Ulther glances once at Shara, but the buxom woman doesn't stop her playing. The rest of the trip, apart from your grunts and moans, remains silent.
The time that stretches on, takes some of your strength with it. Continuous orgasm feels wonderful -better than wonderful, in fact- but is slowly tiring you. Your huge shaft has made your fur all sticky and coated with, almost entirely, with a thin layer of your gooey cum. It's hard to even form words, any more; only grunts and moans able to escape your tired lips.
Soon, you begin to black out. Fighting it, you manage to stay conscious to see light starting to peek through the over-arching branches and thick leaves of the hedge maze.
Then, just as you start to lose consciousness, you come out of the bramble-lined corridors through a high, evergreen arch, into a place that looks nothing like the park that you entered. In fact, as the shadows lengthen in your vision, you see a vast prairie with a team of horses tethered nearby at a campsite filled with porters and assorted workers.
Shackled at the edge of the encampment are a trio of centaurs, between them a pair of cages, one of which contains a scruffy-looking man -tired and worn- with the other holding two lithe, humanoid foxes, each with multiple tails.
"Hail!" shouts one of the men at the camp to your party as Ulther dumps you to the ground, unceremoniously. "You found one!"
The impact makes your vision even blurrier and you know that unconsciousness is only moments away.
"Indeed," says the muscle-bound Ulther, proudly. "And now that we've got our quota, we'll make for Isthallion.
With those words, you feel yourself slipping away and, despite the still-constant orgasm rippling through your loins, you pass out, one, long, guttural moan on your lips.
You wake to find your nostrils assaulted by more smells than you can ever remember smelling before. Sounds crash all around you, muffled -however- by distance and a few feeble walls.
Your cock aches, but not too much, so you think you'll be all-right.
Slowly, you open your eyes, blinking in the dim sunlight.
You are lying on the back of a hay-filled wagon, your arms and legs chained together and also attached to the hard, oak bow of the wagon, itself. Still naked, you feel a bit embarrassed by your situation when you see several people -like stablehands- peering at you, occasionally, as they pass by, doing work.
The wagon is outdoors in what looks like a town square of a Renaissance Festival.
You can barely lift yourself high enough to look around but a few glances -minimal though they be- soon confirm your thoughts.
You have been brought to what appears to be a primitive settlement of 2- and 3-story buildings with thatch roofs and brick exteriors. It's like a mixture between German and English styles of architecture, and the people all appear like so-called "peasants" in old, period movies about "the old world."
Nearby, you see Ulther -now back to his normal, 5'8" size- talking with a man who looks like he runs the square in which the wagon is parked. They seem to be arguing about something, but you can't make out what.
"Don't draw attention to yourself," comes a deep voice just behind your field of vision, next to the wagon. "If he see's you're awake he'll start haggling over you, too."
"Who is that?" you ask, nervously.
"My name is Trelawn; one of the centaurs their raiders captured near the edge of the Stormvale Forest and Caspain's Labyrinth..."
You shake your head slowly. "Look, I don't know what's going on, here... I'm a human; I just went for a walk in the park and ended up trapped in the maze..." You leave out the part about you sneaking between the hedges trying to find a new path or a short-cut.
"You were human?" comes the voice, accompanied by a nervous clopping of hooves. "Were you changed by a wizard?"
"A wizard?" you echo, trying to keep your deep voice down. "We don't have wizards where I come from! This is all the stuff of ... of ... fantasy!"
"This is no fantasy, my friend," comes Trelawn's voice. "This is a real place, with real slavers, and a real danger to you if you don't go along with them... If you're lucky, they'll sell you to a bored rich woman who fancies an exotic bed partner; if not..."
"If not...?" you ask, almost afraid to ask.
"If not," Trelawn admits, quietly, "they'll send you to the gladiatorial rings..."