The Orc Anar
Erotica by William Crimson
- Off goes Will Crimson into Fantasy Erotica. Why have I waited so long? This is another commission from a reader who enjoys cuckoldry. He proposed the general plot and outline — a somewhat ‘Tolkienesque’ setting with a wife who’s abducted by Orcs. My own feeling is that, in reality, such an experience would be horrific and hard to turn into erotica. I offered the notion that the wife and husband voluntarily agreed to the abduction (ostensibly, to spy); but that ultimately other psychological needs would be at play. This, I think, makes room for erotica. I also added Anar — maybe my favorite character ever. She takes the role of Gregor’s alter ego, his enabler and allows the character of Gregor to explore something he can’t quite recognize in himself. I made the Orcs somewhat more appealing than Jackson’s roadkill — if only so that their erotic appeal might be comprehensible. I actually based my description of Anar on a drawing by Incase, included below (which she calls a Goblin rather than an Orc, but whose splitting hairs? :-).
Gregor peered out of his home’s nearly shuttered second story window, a building in the narrow, winding streets of Widmere. The town, an outpost overlooking the northern plains, stood atop an outcropping of granite, backed by the north facing cliffs of the Blackroot mountains. They were being attacked. Orcs. His powerful muscles tensed.
“They won’t get past Gorforin’s ring,” said his wife.
“I don’t like this,” he answered without turning.
“We have planned carefully,” she answered. She stood behind her husband, one hand resting on his shoulder.
He turned violently. “Why did you agree to this?”
She answered sternly. “I did not, my Lord, but with your agreement. The only captives they do not slay at once are captive women; and they would not expect a woman to be a spy and willing captive. Nor would they expect a human captive to speak their tongue. I am the only one.”
“I don’t like it.”
“They’ve never harmed a female captive.”
“No, they breed them.”
“They cannot breed me, my Lord. We have seen to that.”
Gregor jaws clenched. His wife beautiful, mother of two daughters and a son, appeared as youthful as their first day, her blond hair radiant. Orcs and their raids — Whatever deft and foul magic had created Orcs did not give them the power of procreate. They needed human women for that. A child born from a human would always be an orc. If a male? — large, wild and fearsome. If a female? — almost human in aspect; beautiful, but possessing the green and mottled skin of an orc and an orc’s blue-tinted hair. In every other respect, the female orc could be more beautiful than her human counterpart, lacking the more grotesque physiology of the male. Some men, it was said, took Orc women as wives; and it was lasciviously rumored that they were as fearsome in mating and lovemaking as the males in combat. Children of these couplings, of a the female orc, were always human. There is more orc blood in humans than any care to admit; and some don’t even consider orcs a separate race, but the dark, erotic, counterpart to the human race. “Lorinda. No.”
“If they kill you.”
“They will not,” she answered, her hand falling to the dagger at her side. “But you, my Lord.”
2. Read more…
Bora • Installment 2.
fun & weird erotica by William Crimson
- The continuation of the earlier commission. I think I have a fan. Some of you extra-solar cognoscenti might notice that I’m trying to keep things real. Don’t hesitate to challenge my science fiction. I love that sort of thing.
Greer’s bi-level house looked over Midra’s shoreline. Midra, a medium sized port city, was considered among the most beautiful on a beautiful planet, developed on a mountainous slope with slowly diminishing cliffs to the north and south. Greer’s house was mostly windows facing the ocean, with very little inside but a low bed, a few chairs, a table, and a back wall of shelves, floor to ceiling. Greer had collected knick-knacks from other worlds – and she liked books, the kind still bound and printed on paper. The floor was made of Ganga wood – a dark and abundant Borean hardwood.
Alex stood, staring out the window. Orborus now filled what seemed like a third of the morning sky, and if she looked closely she thought she could see another moon. “Why isn’t Bora tidally locked?”
“It is,” answered Greer from the kitchen, “before long, you’ll see Orborus stop, then set again.”
Greer’s answer was followed by a long silence; then: “What do I do now?”
“I have something for you.”
“Do I have to move?” Alex asked, then heard Greer’s approaching steps. The borean stood behind Alex, slipping her arms under Alex’s.
“Look,” she said. She held a glazer between her thumb and forefinger, a card-sized screen of transparent metal flickered to life. “See that?”
“Is that yours!”
“That money’s yours,” cooed Greer. “That’s your cut.” Alex grabbed the glazer, squealing, and held it up to the pale swirls of Orborus. “The first thing you should do,” continued Greer, “visit a tailer.”
“Fuck a tailer.”
“No, silly girl,” Greer’s hand slipped down to Alex’s cock, giving the soft bulge a little squeeze. “A tailer. Your tail’s a mess. No sex slave of mine’s going to have a ratty tail, especially a loaded one, and especially mine. Did I mention you’re mine? Oh, was that a shiver? Your cock is getting hard, little girl. Does it have a mind of its own? Not used to it? Am I going to make it spill if I keep doing this?” Greer licked beneath Alex’s ear, “You have no idea how jealous I am.”
Diary ~ Oct 6th 2014
I have a third eye.
Erotic stories are like a perpetual vine, leafing and blooming wherever I look. For the composer, I wonder if life’s noises are a symphony; if the world is an algorithm to the mathematician; or if, to dancers, choreography is in life’s every gesture. I see the erotic in words, art, music, nature. I’m aroused. I’m exhausted. I’m in love with beauty. I’m overwhelmed by it.
Today I bought cheese, cold cuts, baguettes and wine. The ceiling is painted black girders and half concealed spot lights. The air is filled with the smell of breads, meats and confection . I and another another couple wait at the deli counter. They’re college-aged. He’s tall, thin and black, wearing glasses. She’s half his height, nicely curved, and Asian. They’re beautiful. I imagine their lovemaking.
October — her hip against his as they wait
His skin is the dark of the equatorial sun. Her face is like a pale moon. I see how lovemaking is different for them — how easily he lifts her and how she can’t help want his chest and nipples between teeth and tongue. His taste for her makes her ache. When they’re joined they can’t kiss. He’s too tall — unless she sits in his lap. His cock isn’t too large for her, though other women thought it was. She closes her eyes when lowers herself. She asks him not to move. It can hurt if he presses too soon; but if he waits his thrusts can bring her to orgasm. The small fingers of her left hand hold onto his shoulder. Her right hand, palm down, wrests behind her on his knee and she is turned just a little as she lifts herself, then presses downward, spine curlinjg. Her lips part. She exhales. She almost likes these moments the most, before the fucking begins, when she closes her eyes and explores him inside and outside herself. Sometimes he will lie down, his beautiful length beneath her; she, in the middle, the palms of both hands crossing his abdomen; his other beautiful length parting her thighs.
nipple jutting through his fingers as he penetrates from
This morning was different. I see what happened. They needed to be quick. She didn’t wake as early. She comes to the kitchen in a long shirt. He is in his clothes, black jeans and a black jacket. He smiles when he sees her, the flash of his white teeth netting her the way they always do. She feels the twinge between her thighs. He lifts her onto the kitchen counter. He’s tall enough that he only has to push her knees up and apart. She’s not ready when he fills her. He likes that. He likes the way she grips the counter’s edge; the way her back rises and her nipples jut. He likes pushing her raised knees apart, back, and flat against the counter top. He opens her completely. He likes the way her voice grinds with every thrust and the way her orgasm, just before he fills her with his own, is a shocked blink, a stunned and half-conscious gaze. Someday, as they learn more about each other, he’ll buy handcuffs and a blindfold. He’ll be embarrassed. He’ll be at a sex shop and make silly comments as he pays for them.
after bathing — her lover’s orgasm wetting her
She’ll giggles when she sees them. Then, after she handles them, looks at them, asks him if she can use them on him, she’ll grow quiet. She’ll turn onto her stomach and place her wrists at the small of her back. Her beautiful black hair will spay across the pillow. She’ll turn onto one cheek and peer back at him. She’ll open her thighs and lift the entrance to their orgasms. Her cries, when he thrusts, will be unlike anything he’s heard before. But for now, waiting for their turn at the Deli, her hip presses against his hip. She smiles. They’re just like any other couple
Erotica by Will Crimson
- This is another commission by way of Hentai Foundry. The commissioner said she wanted me to write a story as if I were writing a longer one (so that if she could afford it — or others step in — the story could be continued). The outline: Lesbian lovers; one of whom has a cock; D/S relationship, furry, BD eventually, and M/F. M/FF eventually). I created the science fiction back story and based the characters’ appearance on some of the drawings I’ve seen at HF (Faustsketcher, the amazing androgyny of InCase, and Stickymon). The artists and the fans really enjoy the “chick with dick” meme, or futanari; and, okay, it’s grown on me a little bit. Gratefully, she’s given me a lot of latitude.
“Welcome to Bora,” said Greer.
“What the hell are you doing?” Alex was panicky.
“What the fuck?”
They were in the Red cargo bay of the Seven Lunar Port, a smaller complex close to Bora’s equator, a warm moon orbiting a gaseous planet in the Goldilocks zone of Theta Aquarii. The moon’s palms were strikingly similar to earth’s. Much to the disappointment of scientists and science fiction writers, the discovery of life-bearing exo-planets had revealed strikingly similar evolutionary tendencies in plants and animals. Different animals could appear identical from one planet to the next as each filled similar evolutionary niches. Bora was home to a bipedal species very like humans in their physiology – but covered in a fine fur, like a cat’s, ears that were pointed and flexible, and they possessed expressive tails.
They were a peaceable species, or more so than humans, though not without their own proclivities for violence, corruption and love of pleasure. The appeal of human and boreans was mutual. Though strictly forbidden, it wasn’t long before the first hybrid humans and boreans appeared. Though natural interplanetary speciation never occurs, unscrupulous geneticists learned how to create hybrids — and not only hybrids but new species capable of procreation. The Third Imperial Congress declared hybridation a crime punishable by life imprisonment. Worse yet, hybrid species were to be sterilized, quarantined and in some cases quietly eliminated.
Hybrids were driven underground – some exploited but also and often, their frequently unusual and pronounced gifts well-guarded and well-rewarded. But Greer didn’t need to explain any of this to Alex. Alex was a mule, having carried the illicit Hy-5a serum from Stehl to Bora many times, but this time she’d made a mistake. She was a known agent and was being looked for.
by William Crimson
“Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand.
Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back.
Thou hotly lust’st to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp’st her.” ~ Shakespeare
“Bring her in.”
There was a heavy jowled, red faced man. A middle-aged woman sat to his left in a pin-striped pantsuit. To his right was an older grey-bearded man. They sat behind a tall, elevated bench. Opposite them, across an open floor, was a gallery noisily talking among themselves. They gradually quieted, one trailing voice after another, as the girl was brought before the five elders. The two guards, on either side, guided her by her upper arms, letting go of her when they reached the open floor before the elders. The floor was hardwood. The girl wore a gray dress and black cloak. Her bobbed hair was also black, as were her eyelashes and her eyes. One thin, long braid was looped over her ear and fell midway down her slender back. She was young and still slight. The hem of her dress stopped at the top of her calves. She glanced at the elders, her brow low, her expression guarded and defiant.
“Do you know why you’re here, child?” asked the elder at the center, in a black robe and a white wig.
“I can guess.”
“You’re an intelligent girl who—“
“What about you?” interrupted the girl.
“I asked, what about you?”
“I’m here because I’m concerned for your welfare.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” snapped the woman. “Don’t think we don’t know what you meant.”
“We are all concerned for your welfare,” continued the man.
“My welfare is none of your business.”
“It most certainly is!” said grey-bearded man.
“No it’s not.”
“We’re only trying to help you,” said the woman. “We’re worried for you.”
The Dark Book
- This is the follow up, sort of, to Poledra’s Daughter (the main character is obviously based on Polgara from the Eddings’ series). The commissioner asked that I think big so I wrote this as a sort of first chapter to a larger story. There are many loose ends and some of the characterizations, like Polgara’s immediate attraction to Urdos, is left unexplained. One of the aspects I really focused on, and enjoyed, was trying to keep Polgara’s character “believable” (as far as possible). That demanded adding complexity to her characterization and motivation. I don’t know if and when the commissioner will ask for more so, anyone is welcome to commission the next chapter. For spoilers (explanations), just ask.
1. Lothvit’s Dagger
The historian’s stark figure hustled through the long hall, keeping to the shadows. He was hooded and tightly held bundled papers under his cloak.
He stopped, hailed by a voice he recognized, the first librarian of Telf. The librarian wore the latest Melcenian fashion, single, thin braid twisted over his right ear. “Are you well?”
“Yes, Master,” Gthen answered.
“You seem preoccupied.”
“There has been some disorder needing attending.”
“The ordering of the library, Master Svind, is impeccable. I meant only the discovery of information that has required further research.”
“May I be of assistance?”
“Master, the matter is trivial but necessarily distracting, hardly requiring the skills of a Master Librarian.”
Svind momentarily eyed the understudy. “You will not hesitate to inform me if my services are required.”
Gthen bowed. “I will not, Master Svind.”
“Then be on your way. Do, please, walk freely in the hallway. There are no regulations, that I am aware of, that require you to skulk in the shadows; and the hallway is seldom host to more than a few of us at a time.”
“Yes Master Svind.”
Gthen straightened and went his way, the Master librarian watching. There was a turn, and then another, before Gthen, unseen, opened the door to Mistress Pellora’s study.
“Where have you been?”
“I was momentarily detained.”
“The Master Librarian Svind.”
“He— Mistress, the discovery of Polgara’s writing has impacted our work.” Read more…