He started rocking his hips, moving it in and out of her mouth, savoring the feel of her warm, moist lips.
She tried not to taste him, tried to pretend that it wasn't happening, but the feel of his hard cock in her mouth, the scent of his skin, the darkness, and her helplessness all contributed to a growing sense of excitement. She knew he would smell her arousal, and hated him for it.
He gradually forced himself deeper, prodding her throat almost delicately, as if to test the waters and make sure there would be no repeats of the previous day. She swallowed his crown, feeling it stretch her gullet as it moved in and out of her. She'd had time to prepare herself, and managed to fight back her urge to vomit.
He held her head in both hands as he took advantage of her mouth, his thighs trembling from the effort of crouching at an awkward angle at the foot of the bed. She could hear his breathing getting more rapid, the gusts of warm air caressing her forehead as he worked himself to a pitch of excitement.
She felt his cock twitch in her throat, felt it throb powerfully, then suddenly he was pulling out and she felt hot streams of cum painting her face. She screwed her eyes shut and clamped her lips, but not before taking a taste of his bitter seed. It tasted more like metal than anything, an acrid, salty substance with a wild, musky undercurrent. A warrior's seed.
It ran down her face in rivers, dripping onto her breasts like warm rain, and slid down her belly. She recoiled in horror as it trickled over her loins and seeped between her folds. She felt violated and ashamed and excited all at the same time and struggled in her chains, making them rattle.
He crawled over top of her into her bed and left her there, miserable, filthy, and frustrated. Less than a quarter of an hour later, not long after his seed had cooled on her body, leaving her chilled, he began to snore.
She woke with a start. Someone had doused her with cold water.
"Wake up."
The voice was unfamiliar, harsh and contemptuous. She shivered, blinking the water out of her eyes, and looked up, trying to peer through the sunlight. A particularly hideous female stood over her, lower fangs biting up over her thin upper lip. Her dark skin was scarred and tattooed, and the long coils of her hair hung in bunches tied with leather thongs. She was wearing a hide skirt and a leather vest laced tight against her breasts.
"You're filthy," she said, motioning to a guard. "The king won't want to bed you like this."
"Your king would bed a dead sow," said Quolondra as the guard unlocked her shackles.
The woman kicked her in the stomach.
Quolondra fell forward, retching. She hadn't eaten in over a day and only a trail of spittle drooled out.
"Next time you insult the king, Groma won't be so gentle."
The guard seized her arm and pulled her to her feet. Two more of the orcish women came forward to relieve him, each grabbing her by an armpit. Her arms, which had been blissfully numb, began to burn and tingle as the feeling returned.
The three females dragged her out a side door, down a long flight of stairs, and out to her private bath, a grassy terrace overlooking a flower garden. The sun was shining bright overhead, almost blinding her as they pushed her down into the cold pool. Smoke billowed over the park in the distance where the orcs were no doubt burning down her people's sacred trees.
The women scrubbed her roughly, rinsing under the collar with palmfuls of water. Quolondra considered making a break for the railing. If she was lucky she might land in a flowerbed and avoid breaking a limb. A closer look at her handmaidens made her realize how foolish her plan was. These toned, muscular women weren't servants, but warriors. Any one of them could skin her alive with her teeth.
They threw a blanket over her when they were done, gave her a moment to relieve herself in the latrine, and led her back to her room. A platter of food had been left on a table by the bed, a hank of greasy, undercooked meat and a half-loaf of dark bread.
She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the food warily. Her stomach growled, but the fare was less than appealing.
"Eat," ordered the one who called herself Groma. "Be grateful we're not feeding you your own kin."
There were no utensils, so Quolondra had to pick the meat up with her fingers. She bit off a chunk. Pork, she hoped.
"How goes the slaughter?" she asked, choking down the food.
"Victory is inevitable," said the orcish woman, throwing herself down in a chair. She sat like a man, with her legs spread carelessly.
"Not as well as you'd hoped then," said the queen, breaking off a crust of bread.
"You make a lot of jokes for a slave."
"A prisoner. A temporary one."
The orc laughed. "You're a fool if you think any other future awaits you. Kerlok will bed you until he tires of you and then he will throw you away. His warriors will not be so gentle."
"So I've heard."
"Especially Half-mouth. He likes to hear his bed-mates scream."
"I take it you're speaking from personal experience."
"Shut up. I have no interest in talking to elvish whores."
Quolondra smiled. "Tell me: Are you jealous? That the king is fucking me and not you?"
Groma sprang to her feet and slapped Quolondra across the face.
The queen crumpled on the bed, lines of fire burning her skin. She could feel blood running down her jaw, warming her neck. The bitch has claws.
She felt the mattress sink around her. The orc woman was crouching over her, snarling. She smelled like spiced ale and smoke. "Perhaps when the king is done with you, I'll take you for myself. I'd love to draw pictures on your skin," she said, brandishing long, sharp nails in Quolondra's face.
"Get off her, you stupid sow." It was one of the guards. Rough hands grabbed Groma by the arms and pulled her away. "The king will punish you for this."
"I think she'd like that," said Quolondra, sitting up and dabbing her bleeding cheek with the towel.
The orc woman roared but the guards pushed her through the door. The other women followed, baring their teeth and growling.
"Do come back soon," said the queen. "I so enjoyed your visit."
The doors clicked shut and the two guards leaned back against them, watching her.
Quolondra waved toward the plate of food. "Hungry? I'm afraid I've lost my appetite."
That night, they dragged Quolondra in chains to the terrace overlooking the Lyryl, the cascading rapids that ran through the heart of Hylandryl. The river splashed and hissed below as always, but she knew that its once clear waters were now tainted with blood. The sky was clear, a deep blue deepening into dusk, a red smear over the mountains to the west where the sun bled into the horizon. She inhaled deeply, trying to take advantage of the fresh air, but it smelled of smoke and orcs and carnage. A crow flew overhead.
The guards removed her shackles and left her standing naked in the middle of a circle of orcs; no doubt Kerlok's favored generals and warriors, invited to an evening's entertainment. They ogled her pale form with the ravenous hunger of starving wolves. She glanced at the railing, but knew the guards would catch her before she made the leap.
Kerlok was sitting on her throne, with a good view of both the terrace and the river. She couldn't imagine how much work it had been to rip the throne from its foundations and move it outside. It was made of solid white marble inlaid with gold and must have weighed several tons. A task to keep his ogres occupied, she presumed.
The orcs were drinking her wine by the barrel, wrapping their brutish lips around ceremonial cups decorated with the graceful figures of her ancestors. The roisterous revelry suddenly erupted into a cacophonous din and she turned in time to see the wide double-doors to the palace swinging open.
A pair of orcs were leading an ogre, a monster twice the height of a tall man with thick bones and rippling, corded muscles. His skin was a leathery greenish-gray, shoulders, back, and elbows pebbled with hard, bony ridges. His small dim eyes gazed balefully over the crowd until the twitching of his stub
nose alerted Quolondra to the fact that he'd become aware of her presence. Like her, he was naked; his massive appendage dangled between his hairless thighs like the trunk of a small tree.
Quolondra looked at Kerlok, refusing to accept that he intended to carry through with his farce. Surely he doesn't expect me to...
Kerlok met her look with a savage grin. The wine made his teeth look bloody.
The ogre advanced on her, shaking the terrace.
She backed away but rough, orcish hands thrust her back into the ring. Cheers and hoots accompanied her stagger as she tried to right herself. She hadn't eaten in over a day, and her shock and terror made her feel weak and faint.
The ogre snatched her before she fell, lifting her up like a doll. His hands were huge, the palms so large she could have used one for a chair. His firm grip forced the air from her lungs, but she could tell by the way he held her that the creature was being extremely careful. An ogre could crush limestone in his bare hands; if he'd wanted to, he would have broken her ribs like dry twigs.
The creature brought her to his face, smiling dully. He extended his tongue, and left a wet, oozing trail from her breasts to her forehead.
His saliva made her skin crawl, but it didn't have the terrible odor she would have expected. In fact, the creature smelled more like moss and stone than a flesh-and-blood animal.
She felt a hard, slick mass pushing up between her thighs, forcing her legs apart. She looked down in surprise: it was his cock. She squirmed and squealed, pulling at his fingers. The creature held on, indifferent to her struggles, his mouth going slack, his blank eyes glazing over.
She exhausted herself with her efforts to free herself until she realized that he wasn't hurting her. He wasn't trying to force his monstrous member inside of her, but was merely rubbing her sex over the tip. It was like riding a tree branch: a thick, warm branch that quivered between her thighs.
The feeling of his massive cock sliding wetly between her thighs against her clit began to have an effect on her. To her horror, she began feeling a warmth low in her belly, and her own answering wetness. Her breathing, though strained, got deeper, and her eyelids began to droop.
She made another effort to free herself, this time to escape her shame and embarrassment, but her efforts were futile. The ogre was drifting in his own excitement and his hands might as well have been made of stone.
As her pleasure increased, she began to lose awareness of the group surrounding them She felt herself falling into the big dark eyes of the beast holding her, lulled by their peaceful, unfixed stare. The slick crown of his prick rolled back and forth along the length of her slit, gently stroking her pearl as he rocked her to and fro.
A little moan escaped her and she saw the creature smile. She felt herself sinking into a warm, pleasant tingle. The ogre's breathing was growing stronger, his gigantic chest rising and falling in slow, satisfied waves.
Her excitement mounted as she began to recognize the strangely erotic tension between them, the attraction of a young woman to a kind, protective giant, who could as easily cradle her as kill her, and suddenly she felt herself cumming, her thighs squeezing around his gargantuan cock as she gyrated her hips.
She let her head sink, riding the waves of her pleasure as they carried her away from fear, disgust, and resentment. Her orgasm was strangely pure and chaste, like the first time she'd let a man stroke her with his fingers. It made no sense at all, the way this lumbering brute had pleased her, and it made her feel foolish and dirty, but she had little control over how the creature made her feel.
The ogre set her down gently, holding her steady until her trembling legs found their strength and then let her go. She steadied herself on his thigh and her eyes traced the length of his dangling cock, a heavy shaft of throbbing flesh, wet with her release.
She looked over at Kerlok. Like the others, he was mocking her with lewd gestures, jeering her with his friends, and sloshing wine over his blood-spattered jerkin.
She patted the ogre on the thigh and motioned for him to sit down. She didn't know if ogres had a language of their own, but if they did, she didn't speak it.
The creature complied, crouching down on his knees and resting on the balls of his feet. Even seated like this, he towered over her.
With one last look at the orcish king, she set her jaw and took the ogre's cock in her hands.
It was as big around as her thigh, and longer by far, a rigid, meaty mass with a web of thick veins that throbbed with dark blood. The skin was silky smooth, like polished stone. His nuts hung in a sack like a pair of turnips.
She began caressing him with both hands, running her soft fingers over the expanse of his manhood. His cock twitched, as energetic as a playful dog.
The raucous merriment of the orcs became more subdued, as if her hands strummed a harp and not an ogre's prick. They became captivated with her, with her eagerness to please a beast that they'd chosen specifically to terrify.
She pressed her body up against the ogre's, cradling his cock with her breasts as she stood between his knees. She wrapped her arms around his shaft, holding him tight as she rose and fell. She let his crown slide up her neck to her jaw, rubbing her chin over the tip as she stroked him, stopping every now and then to lick and caress the fleshy cleft on the underside of his head.
His precum tasted like salty chalk and made her face tingle as it cooled. Her breasts and arms were coated in the stuff, and made her warm embrace as slick as a tight hole.
The monster was groaning now, a soft, rumbling moan like distant thunder in the mountains. His chest was pumping like a bellows, rustling her hair with his mossy breath, and the muscular planes of his abdomen trembled.
She could feel him growing harder, pulsing against her body with a rapid beat as he drew closer to release.
She cast her eyes once again to the king and saw that he was glowering. She gave him a disdainful sneer and then turned back to her lover.
"Cum for me," she said, arching her back and tightening her embrace as she stroked him up and down with her cleavage. "Show the Queen of the Elves what it means to be showered in ogre seed."
She had no idea if he could understand her words, but her sultry voice had its intended effect. She felt him throb violently, jerking her against his belly as his cum exploded.
A sticky glob of hot semen rolled up the side of her face, soaking her hair. A second geyser burst on the underside of her chin, falling like hot wax on her breasts.
The suddenness and violence of his ejaculation caught her off-guard and she pulled away, only to feel a third blow on her face. Salty spunk filled her nostrils and mouth, making her choke and gag, blinding her. She staggered back and took a fourth blow to the chest. The force of his cum knocked her off her feet and she fell on her backside, catching herself with her hands.
He continued to cum, laying down thick ropes of semen on her belly and thighs until her entire body was coated from head to toe. She'd never imagined that a creature could have so much cum inside of them and almost regretted her decision. She was sitting in a pool of ogre seed; if she should get pregnant, what sort of creature would burst forth...
A splash of warm liquid drenched her. It washed the cum from her eyes, but stung her just as badly. The smell and taste told her at once that she'd been doused with wine. A barrel full.
She gasped, sputtering, and looked up. Kerlok was standing over her, seething, holding a barrel. He tossed it aside with an echoing thump and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her painfully to her feet.
She yelped, scrambling to find a foothold on the slimy cobbles.
The ogre rose up with a roar, bearing down on the king, but Kerlok waved his hand dismissively and a half-dozen orcs prodded the ogre away with long pikes.
Kerlok dragged her through the open doors into the palace.
She held onto his arm, trying to keep him from tearing out her hair as her feet slipped over the marble floors looking for purchase.
He pulled her up th
e stairs and kicked open the doors to her bedroom, shouldering his way past the guards. She felt herself being flung onto the bed and rolled over, prepared to defend herself. He caught her wrists and forced her down, pinning her with his weight.
"Does it amuse you to taunt me, wench?"
She spat in his face, struggling to free herself.
He growled and squeezed his fists, bruising her wrists.
"You're hurting me!" she said, wincing.
"I'll do whatever I want to you," he said, forcing her hands up over her head. "If you humiliate me like that again I'll cut your throat and feed you to the trolls."
She clamped her mouth shut, cutting off her retort. She wanted to remind him that it was his idea to have her raped by an ogre but his pale eyes glimmered dangerously. She was on a knife's edge, and the slightest misstep would be her last.
He held her wrists with one hand and reached down to unlace his breeches. His jaw muscles bunched violently and his lip curled over his fangs with disconcerting tension. It was almost as if...
He's jealous!
The thought struck her like lightning. He wasn't humiliated by her unwillingness to be terrified—by her public ridicule of his threat—but by the attention that she'd lavished on the ogre.
She felt the head of his prick sliding over her slit.
"You're wet," he said, snarling.
"It's ogre cum." And some of it was.
He forced the thick length of his cock inside of her, burying it deeply. She whimpered, feeling the burn as it stretched, and concealing her pleasure.
"I will fuck the disobedience out of you," he said, pulling back and ramming her hard.
She grunted and then bit her lower lip.
He thrust into her again, making her groan.
"Look at me!" he ordered, shaking her.
She opened her eyes. His bestial face terrified her, like the snapping jaws of a wolf, but it didn't stop her from getting wetter.
"This is the face I want you to see when you cum," he said, fucking her with hard, heavy strokes.
She moaned. He didn't realize how much she wanted it, how his words made her hungry for the brutal pleasures of his cock. He thought he was cowing her, terrorizing her with his body, but she would have sunk on her knees before him to beg for such pleasure.
The Orc King's Captive Page 3
