The Orc King's Captive Read online

  She could feel them looking at her, feel their wolfish eyes caressing the delicate curves of her naked flesh, probing her damp, hairless slit, smelling her heat as they imagined what they would do to her. Her loins began to throb, aching with horrifying desire, her cunt moistening as her body prepared itself for their entrance.

  I do not want this, she thought, outraged; but her body knew differently. For all these long years, these long centuries of diminishing interest and desire, it had yearned for this, for someone—something—powerful enough to force her to feel this heat, to reduce her, finally, to the animal that she was, to the flesh and blood beneath the flowery dresses, the scented lotions, the elegant discourse. For something that would fuck her. Something that would put her in her place.

  She felt like she'd been frozen in time, like some superior glamor had beguiled her, left her paralyzed on her hands and knees. She could still taste the bile in her mouth, smell the pungent aroma of his cock, but none of that mattered beside the feeling of cool air on her exposed sex.

  She heard him spit. The eyes of the orcs became strangely bright, their fangs exposed in an expression of barely constrained lust. She felt his warmth on her flanks, a brief touch of something wet and rigid against her asshole, and then fire as he pushed himself in.

  She screamed.

  He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, cutting her off. His cock was buried inside her anus, stretching her tight ring so wide she felt like she was being split in two.

  The crowd was cheering, a terrifying roar of squealing laughter, like the sound of a pen full of pigs being slaughtered. His whispered words cut through the din: "You're my bitch, now, fairy queen."

  He pushed his cock in further, forcing a grunt out of her. It stretched her open; it felt as thick as a watermelon; she didn't understand why he hadn't broken her hips when he'd thrust it in. Her asshole burned, but she knew by the ease with which he'd slid his cock through her tight ring that he'd coated it with something—his own saliva, she guessed. She supposed that it could have been much worse.

  She felt his hands tighten around her hips, bruising her sensitive skin. He grunted and shoved, shaking her body, straining his muscles.

  She could feel the hard mass of his cock lodge in her core, feel his bristly balls press against her cunt. He was all the way inside of her now. She felt like she was trying to pass an elm tree.

  "You will learn to enjoy this, Little Flower. Soon, you will be begging me for it, crawling to me on your hands and knees."

  That was an impossibility, she knew. It felt like he was fucking her with a branding iron. A piece of hot metal the size of a battering ram.

  He pulled out slowly, as if savoring the discomfort he knew she would feel. It burned almost as much going out as it did going in. She fantasized about turning the tables, about tying him down and ramming a pike in his ass.

  The orcs were going wild, shouting obscenities in a crude tongue she didn't understand. The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks, her arms and legs trembling under his weight. Next to her, he was a giant.

  He began pumping her, forcing himself in and out of her, intent on shaming her and giving himself pleasure. In all her years, she'd never allowed anyone to even think about this act in her presence, let alone attempt it, and yet here she was, being fucked in the ass for a cheering crowd.

  As the act wore on, and he fell into a strong, steady rhythm, she noticed that the burning began to fade, that, though he filled her to bursting, he wasn't splitting her open, and that her tears had begun to dry. She felt her heart beating stronger, her breath getting deeper, and waves of excitement coursing over her body.

  His cock was hard, thick and pulsing, a slick pole that stroked back and forth over her sensitive ring, stretching her out in curious ways. She felt something like a jolt a few inches inside of her that made her arms buckle and her nipples tighten.

  Spirits, no. Anything but this.

  As he slid in and out of her, she began searching for tingles, as if she could root them out and banish them, but she only caught them after the fact, in her goosebumps, her groans, the trickling of her cunt.

  She tried to clamp her mouth shut, tried to stamp out her desires, but every thrust brought her closer to the thing she dreaded more than anything else: desire. She refused to surrender to him, refused to enjoy being degraded, humiliated, publicly shamed. Refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she wanted more.

  But it was hopeless. Her body had turned into another traitor, a scheming counselor intent on her destruction. She couldn't stifle her moans, couldn't hide the trembling of her limbs as his magnificent, bestial cock forced itself inside of her, couldn't wipe away the trail of lust that had started running down her leg.

  She was digging her nails into the marble, arching her back, biting her lower lip to keep herself from crying out. She felt a flush of heat rush up from her loins to her chest to her neck and cheeks and she knew it was over. Her muscles contracted, spasming around his cock as she felt herself carried away on her orgasm. The world went dark, the throng of orcs dimmed into a blurry haze, their raucous voices drowned out by her moans of ecstasy. She felt her body bucking, shaking uncontrollably as his cock tightened and swelled. She felt him twitch violently and then warm, wet heat filling her. His throbbing cock twitched again, then a third, fourth, and fifth time as he filled her backside with his seed. It poured out of him in a rush, spilling out in such quantity that it began oozing back out through her hole to run down her legs. She heard him grunting and sighing, felt his hands crushing her hips, the gentle shudder of his body as he finished his release. And then it was over.

  He pulled out slowly, as if the effort had fatigued him, and she collapsed in a heap. She watched from the floor as he strutted around the dais with his fists in the air in a sign of victory, working the crowd, his proud cock hard and glistening.

  When she woke, she found herself still naked save for the collar around her neck, sitting on the floor of her bedroom, shackled to the foot of her ornate, four-poster bed. The shutters of the high, arched windows were open, letting in the dim light of a gray sky, a cool breeze, and the sounds of battle. A chickadee was perched on the sill, but when she whistled to it, it flew away. She heard a grunt to her right and turned.

  An orc sat on one of her grandmother's delicate chairs, elbows on his knees, staring at her. The legs of her chair bowed under his weight.

  "Sleep well, elf queen?" He smiled; half of his teeth were missing. He seemed particularly revolting for an orc, but it was hard to make comparisons. They were all so brutish and bestial.

  "Like a baby," she said. Her voice sounded thick and it hurt to speak. She poked at the inside of her cheek with her tongue. It was swollen from where Kerlok had slapped her. No doubt it had bruised nicely. Her bottom was sore as well, though she supposed it could have been worse. Kerlok's oily saliva seemed to have protected her from the brunt of the damage.

  "Soon you will carry Kerlok's baby," said the orc, chortling.

  "You don't really know where babies come from, do you?" she said. Antagonizing her captor probably wasn't a good idea, but Quolondra wasn't used to guarding her speech. In any case, it was better to appear strong than weak.

  The orc stood up, knocking over the chair with a clatter. "I know how it works," he said, sneering. "Maybe I show you. You carry my baby instead." He undid his belt.

  Quolondra tensed, a cold knot in her belly. Like dropping a candle in oil, she thought bitterly. How she'd managed to avoid being raped in her sleep she'd never know. Instinctively, she tried to raise a protective ward, but instead of a surge of Elder power, she felt only a dim void. The collar.

  "I'll shout," she said, keeping her voice calm. "I'm sure your king won't like the thought of his hound chewing his toys."

  The orc hesitated, giving her a sly smile, showing her the gaps in his teeth. He re-buckled his belt, tightening the strap. His hands were big enough to crush pumpkins. "There will be plenty of time f
or me later," he said. "Kerlok uses his women hard, but tires of them quickly. You will find me more patient. And much less forgiving."

  Quolondra's shoulders prickled with goosebumps. This one's cruel, she realized, with no love for women. She'd have to be more careful.

  "Where is your master?" she asked. "Taking the rest of his hounds for a walk?"

  "Killing your kin," he said, shrugging. "Or raping them. Who knows."

  "Yes, orcish hospitality is legendary." Something about the way the orc was behaving suggested bravado. Quolondra guessed that the orcs and elves were still fighting. Hylandryl was a large city, and its winding alleys, high towers, and labyrinthine hedge mazes would prove a greater hindrance to subduing the population than the orcs realized, even depriving the elves of their magic. There was still hope, then, and that gave the queen more than enough reason to keep fighting.

  "What's your name?" she said after a long pause. She hoped she'd waited long enough to make it seem like idle conversation.

  The orc growled. "What does it matter?"

  "It matters a great deal if I have to keep looking at your ugly face. A little conversation will take my mind off your drooling."

  The orc surprised her by snorting and grinning.

  She expected him to say something, but he didn't. "My name's Quolondra," she said, pushing forward. "It means Flower of Spring."

  "Fitting, since Kerlok's plucked you."

  "He's hardly the first," she said. "And I doubt he'll be the last."

  The orc gave her a cunning look. "My brothers call me Half-mouth, but to Kerlok I will always be Wet Dog."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because my fur is always wet with the blood of my enemies."

  "Have you tried bathing?"

  Half-mouth scowled. "Only in blood."

  Charming.

  "How did you lose your teeth?"

  "I bit a rock troll."

  Quolondra laughed in spite of herself. She could picture it clearly. She'd dealt with rock trolls on more than one occasion in her duties as the queen. The fact that the orc had lived to tell the tale made her feel a grudging respect for him.

  "So why aren't you in charge, Half-mouth?" He certainly was a big enough lout, on par with the king, and he had the scars to prove he knew his way around a battlefield.

  Half-mouth laughed softly, a low rumbling that sounded a little like a growl. "I see why Kerlok likes you," he said. "Even after he makes you his bitch, you still act like a queen, playing games with words and trying to move us like pawns." The orc stood up and left the room, letting the door fall closed behind him.

  Not half as dumb as he looks. She felt a cold shiver pass over her.

  Quolondra spent the rest of the day staring at the walls trying to ignore the ache in her shoulders and the sounds of battle. For amusement, she tried to remember how she'd come to acquire each perfume bottle on her dressing table, and tried to entice birds to fly in through the windows. She was thirsty and needed to urinate, but she doubted she'd be afforded either luxury any time soon. That was fine; she'd had plenty of time to learn patience.

  At dusk, Kerlok kicked open the doors.

  He was covered head to toe in blood. Bright, rose-red elvish blood. Quolondra felt sick to her stomach and turned away.

  Two guards followed him into the room and began undoing her shackles. Quolondra watched out of the corner of her eye as the king began stripping off his armor.

  The guards held her until he was completely naked and then let go of her wrists. She felt the blood flow back into her arms and rubbed them gratefully. Kerlok made a motion with his head and they left the room, looking over their shoulders at her as they left.

  Kerlok towered over her, his muscular chest rising and falling rapidly. He was breathing hard, fresh from the battlefield. She barely came up to his chest. She looked down, his cock was already hard, thick with veins.

  "Are you still killing my brothers and sisters?"

  Kerlok grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. She felt the palm of his hand smack her between the shoulder blades and she went down on the feather mattress, face first over the foot of the bed.

  She felt his rough hands spreading her open, then Kerlok lined up the tip of his cock with her slit and forced it in.

  She cried, eyes watering from the burn.

  He pushed his cock in until his pelvis pressed her backside, finding places inside of her that had never been touched. She grunted. In all her hundreds of years she'd never experienced this kind of stretching. It was painful, but instead of fear and rage, the sudden, violent assault triggered an inexplicable explosion of excitement.

  He gave her a couple of peremptory thrusts, letting her body adjust to his girth, then began to pump her rapidly.

  She moaned but tried to make it sound like a cry of reproach. It was sick and wrong for her to want this, to be excited by the weight of his monstrous body bearing down on her, to revel in his hard, sweaty flesh as he fucked her, but she could no more control her emotions than she could the beast who inspired them.

  He fucked her hard, releasing his anger and frustration through his prick, forcing her to groan and whimper, pain mingled with pleasure. The slap of his hips on her buttocks, the flogging of her clit with his heavy, swinging balls, the deep penetration of his thrusts, drove her wild with excitement. She bit the blankets, twisting them in her knuckles, trying to hide her ecstasy from her attacker, but to no avail.

  Her cunt seized up, gripping his cock, and a massive orgasm swept her reservations aside like paper castles. She bucked wildly, cumming hard all over his prick. Her response seemed to catch him off-guard, and suddenly she felt his entire body go tense. His shaft swelled, jerking roughly inside of her as the first load of spunk painted her womb. He came again, filling her with flooding heat as he groaned and trembled. The fierce pulsations triggered her again, making her cum a second time, only seconds after the first.

  She'd never experienced anything so exciting... or so wrong. He's likely to put a bastard in my belly, she thought, but the idea of being made fat with his child only excited her more. This is wrong. Sick and wrong, she repeated over and over to herself, as her body trembled with convulsions. That I should let this animal degrade me so, breeding me like a bitch in heat while he slaughters my people. May the Gods punish me for my sins.

  Kerlok leaned over her, shaking, releasing several more loads inside of her. She felt it seeping back out of her hole, coating her thighs with slime, running down the back of her knees.

  When he was finally done, he grunted and pulled out, wiping a trail of seed on her buttocks. He threw a greasy robe over his shoulders and left without a word.

  Quolondra lay where she was, half-draped over the bed, her face in the blankets, her toes on the floor propping her up over the footboard. Though she'd had two orgasms, she was still tingling, hungry for more. She expected the guards to come for her, but the doors remained shut. Perhaps they'd forgotten her, perhaps she should try to escape...

  Instead of getting up and checking the doors, she ran her fingers through the sticky mess in her cunt, feeling herself. She was tender, but not injured, but there was so much cream it would be a miracle if she didn't get pregnant.

  Her fingers traced a circle around her sensitive pearl. She tried to pretend that she wasn't doing what she knew she was doing: fingering herself and thinking about Kerlok. He was just so different from every other man she'd ever met; a powerful, fearless, hairy creature that cared only about his own pleasure, indifferent to her feelings, an insensitive brute that would fuck her whenever, wherever, and however he pleased. He wasn't a simpering fool afraid to take what he wanted. He was a king and her equal. More than her equal.

  She replayed their first meeting in the throne room, remembering how he'd forced her to her knees, how she'd done everything she could to refuse him, how he'd even made her vomit. But this time, in her imagination, there was no vomit. This time, she refused him less stridently, she tried harder to p
lease him—and this time, when he came in her mouth, she came too, and swallowed it all down.

  She still had her fingers inside of her when the guards came for her.

  Afterward, she felt ashamed of herself. She knew it was wrong to take pleasure in her predicament. She'd been lucky so far. She knew rationally that Kerlok was not some fantasy lover, but a brutal killer using her for his pleasure. When she really thought about it, it made her afraid. He had no interest in her beyond her value to him as a hostage, and as a place to spill his seed. Dark thoughts of her future, of being cast aside after the fall of Hylandryl, of falling prey to Half-mouth's amusement, led her down a torturous path into dreaming.

  Hours later, she was startled awake.

  The room was dark, but she knew she wasn't alone. Her skin prickled. She could smell him.

  As her eyes adjusted, Kerlok's shape took form, a black silhouette against the dim, moonless night sky visible through the window. She could tell by the faint curve of light outlining his massive shoulders and arms and curling around his narrow waist that he was naked.

  Her heart began to beat rapidly and, in spite of her earlier musings, she pulled away, suddenly frightened. The footboards pressed into her back and her arms hung limply at her sides, asleep in their shackles. She couldn't move so much as an inch.

  He took two steps forward, planting his feet on either side of her naked thighs. His sex dangled over her, his skin redolent with animal musk. He grabbed her by the hair and tilted her head, pressing the tip of his cock against her lips, smearing them with his slick, salty arousal.

  She turned her head, whimpering through tightly clenched teeth.

  The slap burned her cheek, bringing tears to her eyes. He grabbed her by the jaw and turned her face to his. His eyes glinted like steel in the darkness.

  "I'm not in the mood." His voice was low, with a razor's edge.

  He forced open her mouth and pushed it in, stretching her lips with his girth. His skin tasted like charred meat and slid wetly over her tongue. She swallowed, preparing to gag, but he held it shy of her throat.