The Orc King's Captive

by Kinderton, Clea

  The Orc King's Captive (Rough and Reluctant Monster Breeding Erotica)

  by Clea Kinderton

  Published by Red Lamp Press, 2013.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE ORC KING'S CAPTIVE (ROUGH AND RELUCTANT MONSTER BREEDING EROTICA)

  First edition. May 21, 2013.

  Copyright © 2013 Clea Kinderton.

  Written by Clea Kinderton.

  Table of Contents

  The Orc King's Captive (Rough and Reluctant Monster Breeding Erotica)

  When Queen Quolondra heard that the walls had been breached, she refused to believe it.

  "Impossible," she said, leaning forward on the Ivy Throne. "They're orcs."

  The messenger bowed his head, but not without betraying a flicker of discomfort. "They have been... armed, Queen Mother."

  "Armed? With what? Intelligence?"

  The jape fell on deaf ears. She'd just returned from successfully routing the orcs on the plains of the Estril via the Archstone and had barely had time to change from her armor into a dress before she'd been forced to call an assembly. The assembled councillors were murmuring amongst themselves in an uncharacteristic state of agitation.

  "Well, out with it. What secret siege weapon have they brought to bear?"

  "Urtolothia, My Queen. The Ur stones."

  The queen rose to her feet, drawing everyone's attention. "That's impossible. The Ur stones have been hidden."

  Her chief advisor stepped forward, clearing his throat. "It seems our enemies have conspired together to secure these artifacts," he said smoothly. "Kerlok has been treating with the Horned Ones for months now. Clearly their warlocks have made more progress on that front than anticipated. It's of little importance. The brutes will be dealt with."

  She turned on the advisor. "Dealt with? How? With soap?"

  "My Queen—"

  "They outnumber us ten to one, Tolterian. I don't care if they're savages. Without our magic they'll overrun the city. Why am I only hearing of this now?"

  The smooth planes of the advisor's face were expressionless, every hair of his long dark braid perfectly precise. "We had no wish to disturb you, Your Excellence. Commanding the troops on the Estril—"

  Quolondra strode down the steps of the dais and slapped him. The assembled councillors fell silent.

  "Do you think I'm a fool?" she said. She felt fire burning in her cheeks. She hadn't been this angry in centuries.

  The advisor retreated half a step, placing his fingers lightly on his cheek. Being struck was a serious affront, even coming as it did from the queen. He smiled down at her, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

  "I've dealt with traitors before, Tolterian. I know your games."

  She turned to her guards. "Arrest him. I'll deal with him when—and if—we vanquish our foes." She wondered how Mygamyl was faring. She'd sent the Master of Flames to the wall upon hearing the news of the siege's progression but now she missed his counsel. Having Kerlok's army breathing down their necks in a year-long siege was one thing, but arming them with Ur stones supplied by a traitor...

  There was a sudden cracking boom in the corridor outside the throne room, quickly followed by the sound of crumbling stone. One of the inner walls had collapsed. Quolondra could see billows of smoke rising from the courtyard below through the tall, ivy-trimmed windows. Their enemies had made rapid progress. Too rapid. They had more than Ur stones working in their favor. They had allies on the inside as well, easing their passage. Only the guards at the palace gates seemed to have opposed them.

  "Bring me my armor," she said, turning to her chief of staff.

  "That won't be necessary," said Tolterian.

  She turned, surprised to hear his voice. The guards she'd ordered to arrest him hadn't budged an inch. In fact, the points of their halberds were now turned in her direction. She looked at the others assembled in the throne room. None of them made any effort to intervene.

  "What is this... a coup?" Quolondra raised her hand and uttered the word of binding.

  She expected to feel the Elder Power course through her, but the gesture had no effect.

  Her bodyguards seized her by the arms.

  Tolterian chuckled, amused by her confusion and alarm. He reached into his robe and drew out a small sphere no bigger than a walnut. It looked like verdigrised bronze but a sickly black haze seemed to emanate from it, making it difficult to look at.

  "A wondrous thing," he said, holding it up to the light. It seemed to drain the warmth and color from the air around it, turning his emerald eyes the color of decayed flesh. "A bit of stone with the power to render the Queen of the Elves as harmless as a milkmaid."

  Quolondra tried to shrug off the guards, but they only tightened their grip. "You fool! What do you hope to accomplish? Even if you hand me to the orcs, do you think they'll let you live? They won't suffer an elf to sit on the Ivy Throne. Without your magic you're as doomed as the rest of us."

  Tolterian slipped the orb back in his robe and gave Quolondra a tight smile. "Your concern is touching, Queen Mother, but you don't need to worry about me. I've made all the necessary arrangements."

  There was a resounding boom on the large double-doors. The orcs were using a battering ram. The doors shook but held.

  Tolterian made a quick gesture to the chief of staff. "Bring her collar."

  Quolondra struggled to free herself, but she'd hand-picked the guards herself for their strength and discipline. Without her magic, she was as helpless as a child. If Mygamyl were here... but no, he'd be as helpless as she was. The mere presence of the Ur stone was enough to strip them of their power.

  The chief of staff brought over a small, plain chest and unlocked it. Inside was a ring of Ur stone, fashioned in the shape of a dog collar. Tolterian lifted it gingerly out of the bed of silk, as if it were as delicate as glass. He clicked it open at the hinge and then took a step toward her.

  Quolondra tried to pull away but Tolterian grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, making her wince.

  He snapped the collar around her neck, then he drew a small key from a pouch inside his robe and locked the collar in place.

  "So ends the reign of the Queen," he said, placing the key back in its pouch. "I trust you'll make the most of your new life as a slave. I dare say you'll be poorly treated." He gestured at the others. "Chain her to the throne. Her new master won't be pleased if he has to chase her around the room."

  The doors rang again. This time dust and bits of stone fell from the wall around the hinges. A large dent had been made in the middle of the doors. It was only a matter of time, now.

  Two more guards drew a long chain from a chest and affixed it to her collar before attaching it to the throne. The weight of the chain dragged on her. It was made of the same metal as the collar.

  "You'll regret your treachery, Tolterian," she said, baring her teeth. Her heart was beating in her chest like an angry hawk. It had been centuries since she'd known real fear. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

  "On the contrary. I imagine you'll regret it much more than I will. Personally, I expect to enjoy the fruits of my treachery for a very long time."

  The doors to the throne room buckled and the stone frame crumbled in a cloud of dust. There was a metallic screech as the heavy metal portals tore from their hinges followed by a thunderous clang as they crushed the marble. The delicate pillars supporting the high, arched ceiling trembled.

  Tolterian and the others disappeared hastily through a secret door behind the throne, sealing it behind them.

  Quolondra cast her eyes desperately around the throne room. She was alone.

&nbs
p; When the dust settled, she saw the vanguard of the invading army. A pair of massive, dull-witted ogres held battering rams in their hands like wooden clubs, towering over the hordes of savage-looking orcs. There must have been a hundred of the vile, hairy brutes standing in the hall, and no doubt there were thousands more crawling over every surface of Hylandryl.

  I've failed, thought Quolondra. My people are dead or dying and I am helpless to avenge them.

  The orcish victory, though sudden, hadn't been a painless one. Brightly feathered elvish arrows poked out of the orcs' spiked, black-ring armor, and dark, purplish blood dripped from countless wounds. Her people hadn't gone down without a fight. Even without their magic, they'd left a bloody hand print on the enemy.

  A tall orc at the front of the vanguard advanced on her with an imperious stride. He was easily seven feet tall, a full head and shoulders taller than Quolondra and five times her weight. His breastplate bore a symbol: a pair of severed hands. It could only be Kerlok, their leader.

  The orc king stopped in front of her, his helmet a snarling wolf mask frozen in black metal. He undid the strap on his helm and pulled it gracelessly from his head, tossing it aside. It clanged on the marble floor and rolled down the steps.

  The face beneath the mask was, if anything, even more bestial. Low, heavy brows; a short, up-turned snout; silver-blue irises as cold and hard as metal, and a head of black hair as thick as a mane.

  "To what do I owe this pleasure, Kerlok?" said the queen, openly expressing her disdain.

  The orc king snorted, flexing the muscles of his wide jaw and his jutting chin. He almost seemed disappointed to find her helpless.

  He took two steps forward and slapped Quolondra in the face, sending her to her knees.

  She felt her mouth fill with blood. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to strike her. The great Queen of the Elves helpless to defend herself from a common thug, she thought, wiping her swollen lip. Before Tolterian's treachery, I could have incinerated his entire army.

  The orc undid the belt for his sword and let it fall with a clatter. Then he began to remove his breastplate, loosening the straps with complacent languor.

  What's this? she wondered. He couldn't possibly... She scurried backwards like a crab, trying to put whatever distance she could between them.

  The heavy steel plate dropped with a bang, chipping the marble.

  At the edge of the dais, she felt the chain pull taut. She'd reached its limit.

  Kerlok continued to remove pieces of his armor, flinging each component aside indifferently, until only a grimy loincloth remained. Then he removed that as well.

  There were so many scars on his body that the hairy, chestnut brown skin pulled tight over his lean, rippling muscles looked like it had been sewn together. Thick veins stood out in stark relief on his arms and thighs, pumping dark blood through his powerful limbs, giving him a bluish cast. His body had been designed for one thing and one thing only: hard, violent physical exertion. Quolondra caught herself staring at the cock dangling between his thighs like a serpent and looked away, recoiling.

  Now that he was naked, she could smell him more clearly. He stank like an animal; even worse than a human. But below the rankness was a pungent, captivating odor that seemed to lodge in her nose and affix itself. It was wild and musky, like the scent of a stag or a bull, a rich, sickeningly appealing odor like overripe fruit. She tried to ignore it, but the aroma made her feel warm and anxious, as if it hinted at some buried need which she refused to acknowledge.

  The orc king reached down, grabbed the chain, and pulled.

  Quolondra slid across the floor toward him, skidding on her knees, thrusting out her hands to keep her face from hitting the marble. He jerked it again and she found herself face-down at his feet.

  His strength was tremendous.

  He wrapped the chain around his hand, pulling her up by the neck until she was on her knees in front of him. She gripped his thighs for support, digging her nails into his hide to raise herself up and keep herself from choking. His legs felt like the boles of trees, impossibly strong and firm. What the orcs lacked in intelligence and craft they more than made up for in sheer physical strength and endurance.

  He ran his calloused fingers through her hair and closed them into a fist, yanking her head back.

  The way he pulled made tears pool in the corners of her eyes but she held them back, staring up at him defiantly.

  He smiled, showing his fangs. "I'm going to enjoy making a whore out of you." His voice was guttural. A voice of lust, cruelty, and power.

  She spat in his face, catching him in the cheek below the eye.

  The muscle running from his nose to his upper lip twitched. He extended his tongue, a dark pinkish-purple organ as long as her hand, and licked up her spittle.

  "I like it when a bitch puts up a fight."

  He crushed her head into his crotch, pressing her sensitive nose into the thick tangle of pubic hair around the base of his cock. She gagged. The stench was overpowering, but the effect on her body was instantaneous. Raw animal lust flooded her. She felt heat and moisture gathering in her folds, threatening to run down her legs.

  Gods of the Wold, why is this happening to me? It wasn't her defeat that made her despair, but the way her body was responding. It was as some spell had been cast on her, turning it against her.

  She heard a raucous round of japes and cheers from the assembled crowd. She turned her eyes up to look at Kerlok and saw his broad nostrils flaring. He could smell her excitement. They all could.

  "Now, elf, show my companions what your kind are good for."

  He grabbed his cock and pressed it against her cheek, rubbing it over her face. The tip was getting tangled in her hair, leaving slick trails in her tresses. She growled and tried to pull back, but he only pulled on her harder, suffocating her. Wiry hairs were getting into her nose, poking between her lips. "Lick the balls of your master. Show my people an elf who knows her place."

  She fought her urges, sick with disgust and self-loathing, but it only seemed to make her excitement more intense. Her fingernails dug into his thighs, her muscles straining as she tried to push him away, but he was oblivious to her efforts, as implacable as stone. It was getting harder to breathe. Her lungs were beginning to burn.

  She opened her mouth, gasping for breath, inhaling his curly brambles. They stuck in her throat, making her choke. She seized him by the balls, closing her fingers around two large orbs wrapped in a leathery, hairy sack, and squeezed.

  His cock twitched against her cheek, growing harder, and she heard him chuckle.

  She squeezed harder, digging her nails into his wrinkly flesh.

  "Ah. That's it, Little Queen. Show us some fire."

  She screamed, pulling on his sack as hard as she could, but her cries were muffled by his skin, and his cock only grew harder and thicker. She wasn't hurting him at all; he was enjoying it.

  Kerlok jerked back her head. She sucked in great mouthfuls of air, tears streaming down her cheeks. She refused to sob. She let go of his nuts, suddenly embarrassed.

  "How do you think orcs make love, Little Flower? Next time, try biting them. I'll enjoy it more."

  His cock had grown firmer, a stalk of dark meat almost as long as her forearm. A thick foreskin covered the tip, but he teased it back, revealing the broad crown underneath. It looked like a weapon, a glistening spear meant for impaling soft flesh.

  If he tries to put that inside of me...

  "Open your mouth," he said, twisting his fingers in her hair.

  She clamped her teeth together, grimacing at the pain.

  He slapped her, sending her to the floor.

  Her face burned and a fresh wave of tears ran down her cheeks. He reached down and grabbed her chain, yanking her back up to a kneeling position.

  He dug his hard fingers into her cheeks, forcing her teeth apart. If he'd used any more force, he would have broken her jaw.

  He stuck his finger into
her mouth, pressing down on her tongue. His skin was coarse and leathery and tasted like sweat and blood. She bit down hard, digging her teeth in as deeply as she could.

  Kerlok laughed. "Your teeth are dull," he said. "Most of my wives have fangs."

  He forced her mouth open and pushed the head of his cock inside.

  He had a tight grip on her hair so she couldn't turn her head or pull away. The cleft tip dragged over her tongue, smearing her sensitive tastebuds with a bitter, salty liquid. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. His cock tasted like a hank of greasy, cooked sausage, like something coarse and common roasted over a campfire.

  "Show us an elf queen knows how to use her mouth for more than nagging."

  She sat inert, trying not to move or gag. She refused to give him any satisfaction.

  He chuckled and grabbed the back of her head, forcing his rigid cock into her throat.

  The head lodged there, throbbing and pulsing, stretching her gullet and blocking her air pipe. She struggled, trying to push herself away, but he held her fast until she began to retch. When he felt the contents of her stomach rising up to meet him, he pulled out, letting her spill them on the floor, coughing and sputtering.

  He let go of her chain, letting her crawl on all fours, heaving.

  He circled around her, like he was stalking a wounded deer. She saw his broad feet padding through the edge of her vision. He walked high on the ball of his foot, his heel rarely touching the floor. She realized how little evolved the orcs were from animals.

  He moved behind her, out of her vision, and she felt his fingers slip under the neckline of her gown. He pulled with both hands, dragging her backward as he rent the fabric. The pearl buttons fastening her dress spilled onto the floor, rolling around her hands and knees like marbles.

  He crouched over her, running his coarse hand down her spine, his hot breath making her shiver.

  He grabbed the sleeve of her dress at the shoulder and ripped down the seam. A few more tugs was all it took to strip her. He tossed the tattered scraps of silk to the orcs that stood circled around them, hooting and cheering.