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’s jaws clenched. His wife, 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.”
Gregor heard shouts. Arrows stung the air. There were cries.
The orcs were coming closer, deceived by the retreat of Gorforin’s soldiers. They would set the outermost ring of Widmere alight if they could, but weren’t so stupid as to do it yet ― and so block their own escape.
“They come, my Lord,” said Lorinda, her voice finally unsteady.
“I see them.” Gregor backed way from the shutters. “All this to trick a spy into their ranks.”
His wife looked over his shoulder. She saw the green orcs, the males, all of them greater in stature than any man, broad shouldered, muscular, and wearing only loin cloths. There was a beauty to them that she didn’t dare admit – a wild and fierce beauty. Their blue hair was braided and fell to the small of their backs, interwoven with intersecting teeth and the intermittent skulls of animals – the skulls themselves marked with symbols. Their ears were pointed, like elven ears, but broader and taller and their teeth, more like fangs, folded over their wide lips. There were female orcs too, topless and equally fierce.
“Do it,” said Gregor.
Lorinda hesitated, then swung open the shutters and screamed. There were three orcs, one female, that turned immediately, peering upward. Lorinda swung shut the shutters. It took hardly a minute before the door to their home splintered.
“They come,” said Gregor. He went to the top of the stairs to meet them while Lorinda retreated to the far corner. The orcan feet were heavy on the wooden stairs. They didn’t wear boots or battle armor. They didn’t need to. Their bone-hard soles thumped onto the second floor floorboards.
Gregor struck, a deliberately clumsy blow that the orcs easily deflected. He fought poorly, like a milliner, and not like the warrior that he was. He retreated. The three orcs followed, entering the room. He backed away as though to protect Lorinda. The orc’s blows were powerful, though not as skilled; and when the moment was ripe, he allowed his sword to be struck from his hands. Lorinda screamed. The orc tried to strike a killing blow but Gregor deafly dodged the bludgeon and retreated to the opposite corner. He wouldn’t let them kill him, or if they did, it would cost them.
The female orc barked a command, her bow pointed at Gregor’s neck. The first and third backed away with toothy grins. Yes. The plan. Lorinda cringed in the corner as the two orcs quickly inspected the room, snuffled the air as if to detect children, hopefully daughters, but smelling no other living presence, they dragged Lorinda to the doorway.
What were they doing? The female handed the bow to one of the males, took a knife from her hip and went to Gregor. She smiled wickedly, then deftly crouched him, placing the blade of her knife at her throat. She spoke. Her voice was deep and rich.
“Thoc needs to mate. I’ll give you one last pleasure and then? Your choice. Your head or your balls. Which do you want me to cut off?” She ripped open Gregor’s breeches. She yanked his head back by the hair. “Watch,” she said. She let go, then the fingers of the same hand circled his cock. The other placed the knife edge at the base of his ball sack. “Watch your wife. And when she comes on his cock, when seeing her come on an orc cock makes you submit, I’ll cut your balls off even as you squirt. I’ll be quick. Just a sting. It’s magic. The knife makes no blood. You’ll still be squirting as I walk off with your balls.”
Lorinda’s hands were bound behind her. She was thrust to her knees, then her chin to the floor. A collar was tightened round her neck, and attached to that was a long, curved and carved stick of ash – well used and darkly burnished. Her wrists were attached, quickly and efficiently, to the collar, pulling them up and further behind her. A harness was put in her mouth.
Thoc, the larger of the two male orcs, powerfully pushed her knees apart and knelt behind her, quickly pushing aside his loin cloth. His cock was a huge green with a mottled, mushrooming tip. Lorinda closed her knees but Thoc yanked head back by the collar and brusquely kicked her knees open again, this time wider, making her posture submissive. The ogre tucked the ash pole, attached to Lorinda’s collar, under his right armpit, forcing her head up and forward, and thrust deeply at the same time. She screamed behind the harness and her eyes half rolled. The tempo of his thrusting was quick and necessary. Time was short. Lorinda grunted, wrists crossed on the floor in front of her, and her stunned gaze met Gregor’s.
“I feel you hardening,” said the female, her breasts on Gregor’s back, reaching around and under to milk him. “Look in her eyes. Watch her. They’ll show you when he fills her, when she submits, that there’s nothing she can do to stop him.”
“My head!” Gregor grunted, his only chance.
The female lifted the knife to his throat and continued to pump him. “Spill,” she hissed. “Show your wife you submit. Your acknowledge her new owner.”
Gregor fiercely grunted. He spread his thighs. Then he saw Lucinda thrust forward hard, and held there. Her eyelids grew heavy and he saw it, the moment her cunt submitted to the orc’s cock, gripping it compliantly again and again. Gregor’s first spurt struck the gritty floor under him. “Good boy,” cooed the female. “That’s it, keep spurting, show her how you submit to her new owner.”
A powerful explosion shook the house. Gorforin!
Gregor no longer feigned a milliner’s incompetence. He was fast. The female’s knife nicked his neck, but he’d turned her over before the knife cut any deeper. Thoc and the other orc quickly yanked Lorinda to her feet. She grasped at the collar around her neck but they yanked her out of the room, then led her, by the ash pole down the stairs ahead of them. Thoc glanced at the female before he retreated with his prize. He grinned contemptuously. Perhaps he thought she’d follow soon with Gregor’s blood on her blade. She didn’t.
The fight was more than Gregor had expected. First he took the female’s dagger. She fought to take it back. Then he had her on her back, both of them covered with the dirt and grime of the floor. They were in the doorway. His blade high and ready to plunge into the orc’s heart. “No!” she screamed.
Gregor hesitated, the tip of the knife etching her breast. He raised it again, furious. ‘No!’ she screamed again and lifted her knees, opened her thighs wide, and submitted her thighs to him – her eyes filled with terror. Her fingers closed around his cock, stroking him.
“Why should I let you live?” demanded Gregor, winded.
“Because I gave you the choice!”
“As a eunuch!”
“You kill orcs, hundreds.”
“What should I cut off? Your clit or your nipples?”
“Take my cunt!”
“I give it to you. It’s yours. Do with it what you want.”
“It is,” she countered. “It’s sacred. I give my cunt to you. I give you myself. Through my cunt you possess all of me.”
Gregor drove the dagger into the floor by her ear. “No, Orc.” He stood.
“Orc bitch,” he repeated with disgust. “Stand up. I’ve lost valuable time. Where are they taking her?”
Windmere was a speck on the granite outcrop overlooking the plains. Gregor and the teen-aged orc wended their way through the black grass of the plains. The grass was taller than any man or orc. Easy for an orcan band to come and go unseen; and easy for a man to lose himself. Many were the tales of madness. Many were the lost and wandering in the trails and byways. The young female orc walked ahead of Gregor, wearing nothing but a leather cord around her narrow waist and skulls in her blue, braided hair.
Her skin was a mottled green, her hips swayed with her gait, and her legs and arms were muscular. Gregor had fastened a collar at her neck and a leash to control the “orc bitch”, as he called her. He tied the leash to the cord at her waist so that it hung down the coil of her spine. They walked this way for ten miles and slowly turned back toward the granite cliffs to the south. Gregor, a skilled ranger, lost and found the trail through the course of the day. They stopped to eat from the supplies that he carried. He bound the orcan bitch’s hands behind her neck and made her squat while he ate. He said nothing. He threw some food on the ground for her. She didn’t eat that first time, but watched him closely and carefully.
Close to nightfall, at the foot of the mountains’ granite cliffs, Gregor stopped.
“Thoc fucked your mate, here,” said the girl.
“I can smell it.”
“Thoc’s semen fills your mate’s belly,” the girl said again, evenly. “I smell his semen. I smell your mate’s urine and her womb.”
Gregor turned and pushed the teen-aged Orc ahead of him. They walked another mile, up from the wet trail to a dusty ledge.
“There,” said Gregor. He fell to one knee and studied the dust between two boulders. He yanked the orcan teen to her knees, by her hair, and told her to keep her hands behind her neck. “They stopped here.”
“This is where they claimed the girl and your mate.”
Gregor continued to study the tracks in the dirt. His wife had been forced to her knees. He saw the divots made by her knees, wider than he’d ever opened them. But there were smaller devots beside these. The other captured woman? The girl? The soil was wet between these divots as well.
“Thoc’s large,” said the orcan girl, as if reading his mind. She lowered her arms. She crawled to Gregor on hands and knees, pressed her swollen nipples against his back. She reached round and down between his thighs. She licked his ear. “This is what they do. While you war against the orcs, they fuck your mates. They fuck them from behind. They make animals out of your daughters and wives – they seed their lifted, animal, bellies like wild animals. We, all of us, are animals — your fears, your denial, your lust.”
“Fuck off!” Gregor snapped, but inhaled sharply when the orcan girl’s fingers gripped his cock.
“It’s all there,” continued the girl. “Can’t you read it in the dirt? I’ll explain because I’ve seen it. The girl and your mate were brought here. There are eight males. Six males didn’t find mates, only Thoc and another — Orbard, I recognize his smell. The girl and your mate are stripped naked. They are told that if they can run away, they won’t feel an orc breeding in their bellies. If they cannot run quickly enough, then when they leave this circle their bellies will be filled by orc semen.
“Now look,” the orc pointed at the tracks, “the girl and your mate run – you see their tracks going back to the trail from which they’ve come. Thoc and Orbard wait. The orcs, I’ve seen them, laugh among themselves. They laugh at the way the women run, at the way their buttocks are thrust behind them, at the way they cover their nipples with their forearms. The girl – do you see? – turns as she runs away. She must see Thoc and the other’s cock – hard, thick, ready to thrust deeply into her abdomen. She stumbles. She catches herself with her hands, half bent over, then runs again.
Thoc and Orbard wait. They stroke their cocks. After a time, because there’s no sport in hurrying, they stretch, their cocks full and ready. And then they run after them.
Orcs can scent a trail like your dogs. We know where the women have run. They smell their cunts. They race ahead of the women, jump in front of them. Scare them. Let them see the giant blue cocks that will open their thighs. The women are sweating now. They’re winded. Now, when the orcs surprise then, they grab their hair and thrust them to their knees. The women are almost exhausted. They go slack, on their knees, gazing at their hunters, their cocks, the hunters. The orc thrusts his cocks into their mouths. ‘Taste it,’ they say. ‘Do you submit to it?’
They let the women go. If they run again, then they let them until they stumble and cannot rise from their hands and knees. This is when the Orcs claim their quarry. Thoc steps behind your mate. He sees by her tits that she suckles well. He sees by her cunt that she’s ready. She’s wet, cuckold. He slowly strokes his cock.
She doesn’t crawl. He steps behind her. He yanks her head back by the hair. He kicks her knees apart with his own. She waits, and then her moan, her cry, her submission is heard by the others. So too is the girl’s, elsewhere in the dark grasses. What can they do? The Orcs cocks sink into them both from behind, not suddenly, but as one dominates another – slowly, deliberately. The orcs cock fill their wombs. Thoc’s balls rest against the clit of your mate. Her eyes roll upward. The thrusting is powerful. The cries of the girl and your mate intermingle. A cock that size cannot be taken but by arching of ones back, spreading ones knees, and coming. I know, as only a female can know, what it is like to be mounted by a male and made to come on the seeding of his cock. We answer to such a male.” Her fingers tightened round his cock as she milked him. “Yes, Gregor, spill your seed. Thoc impregnates your mate. Once a woman has taken the shape of an Orc’s cock, her spine always show the bending of it.”
Gregor saw it all. He saw the whites of Lorinda’s eyes, He saw the moment the dark depth of her belly was warmed by Thoc’s semen — warmed, filled and bred. Her fingertips dug into the mud, her toes curled, she groaned loudly, eyebrows knit, but the long cock continued to disgorge its semen inside her. He shook.
The orcan teen pulled back his head by the hair until he sat on his haunches.
“It turns you on,” she said, pressing his own come into his mouth. Gregor turned and violently shoved her away. She fell back onto the palms of her hand. ““You’re no milliner and I’m no fool,” she smiled wickedly. “You’re a warrior; but here you are. You pursue and yet you do not pursue. Why? You let her be captured. Planned. Others must have known.”
“Turn around,” said Gregor. He bound her wrists behind her, then roughly to a clearing at the head of the path. He tied her leash round a middling ash tree, her knees to two ends of a stick, her cunt raised behind her. “Bait. A decoy. An orc bitch for wolves. Don’t wake me.”
He saw the dark shapes milling around the orc. He saw her, hands behind her back, legs around the neck of one of the man-wolves — shape changers. The moonlight faded behind another cloud. Gregor moved quickly. He nicked one, drawing blood. It moved quickly or it would have been a fatal cut. Another leaped at Gregor’s throat. He rolled and took the wolf’s hind foot.
His motion never stopped. His bladed warded and attacked. It cut the leash round Anar’s neck and gashed the face of another wolf, deflecting its maw. Anar rolled, tucking her knees and feet through her bound arms. When she stood, her wrists were in front. Gregor couldn’t defend them both. Swiping his sword at a dark, attacking wolf, changing from wolf to man, man to wolf, he threw Anar’s blade and she caught it.
At the next moment a wolf was on her, no longer content to breed her, but now to kill her.
Her strength was almost twice that of a man’s and equal to the shape-shifter. There was a high-pitched scream, half-man, half-wolf, and she held the hairy balls of man-wolf in her hand, the glowing blade of her dagger in the other. There was no blood and the ball sack was like a little bag beneath her fist. The other wolves quickly furrowed into the dark of the grasses. Anar turned the blade on the cords at her wrists, then both she and Gregor waited. But the wolves didn’t return.
When Anar finally straightened, from her hunched position, Gregor had seen enough to see the dried tears on her cheek. “Come, sleep.” He gestured to her and she followed. “There,” he pointed to his own bedding, a thin scrub-mat, and sat across the from her on the soil.
She glanced at him as if to be sure of his generosity, then slowly sat on the mat, tucking her knees under her chin. She didn’t need to ask. He pulled apart his bloodied shirt, revealing a deep wound. With one hand, he yanked a needle from his back and thin thread.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, flatly. “Something you said.” He was quiet a moment. “You said orcs—like we made you. I look at you and despise you; but maybe you’re right. We try to kill it, you, all of you, and you don’t go away—” He shook his head. “You can’t. We don’t let you.”
The orc’s eyes glistened. She regarded Gregor as she pulled his blanket over her shoulders, then closed her eyes, exhausted, and slept.
They had passed well into the Blackrock mountains by mid-afternoon. Anar led. She no longer wore the leash. Her dagger was back at her side. Though was stocky, like an orc, and muscular, with full hips and powerful shoulders, Gregor saw that she was beautiful and female in a way that he had refused to see before. The man-wolf’s ball sack hung from the cord at her waist and this, despite himself, began to amuse him. There was no blood. The sack was like a perfect leather bag with no seams.
“What do you do with it?” he finally asked.
“The ball sacks?”
“I collect them,” she answered without turning.
Gregor snorted. “You’re a vicious orc-bitch.”
“They live, cuckold.”
“Tcha! The men? Aye. ‘Live.’ But not as men.”
“I mean their ball sacks.”
“Their balls? Live? How?”
“The blade does not sever the life. The ball sacks live. I have taken them while their owners still squirted on hands and knees and shown it to them. Even now the man-wolf follows us. I smell him when the wind turns. I carry his ball sack and he fears me, but he cannot bear to be distant from them.”
“If you cut my ball sack, I would hunt you down.”
“You would not.”
“You would fear me and what I would do,” she answered. “If I squeezed them, you would still feel pain. I would possess your vitality. You would do anything I commanded. You would serve me as your Mistress. I might reward you, but no one but I can wield the blade.”
“Where comes this blade?”
“Runic blades are not forged to only slay Orcs and Goblins.”
“All blades are evil.”
“Do you give all men the choice of eunuchs or death?”
“If they do not choose?”
“I take their balls.”
“An orc who doesn’t kill,” Gregor gave a short, derisive laugh. “You would have killed me.”
“I preferred your balls, cuckold.”
Gregor snuffled and spit. He liked the orc-bitch, different from any women he knew. “You might get my balls, orc-bitch, but the way a bitch is meant to get them.”
“Your mate would know.”
Gregor paced in the clearing. They had climbed through a high saddle and into taller trees, the ancient Shiftwood, a feared forest.
“She did,” said Anar.
“She did not!”
“I see it in the tracks.” The orc girl stood with her legs parted, stroking her clit, smiling with satisfaction as Gregor paced, hand on the grip of his sword.
“They forced her.”
“She mounted him,” said Anar, her eyes fluttering as she took pleasure in Gregor’s humiliation, “it is there – the marks of Thoc’s ass, heels and back, your mate’s knees on both sides of his hips. She rose and fell on his cock, here; and the girl too. They begin to break. They lose hope of rescue and acknowledge their new masters.”
“Bitch!” Gregor lunged at the Orc girl, taking her blue hair in her fist, forcing her to her knees. “open your mouth, damn you! Open it!”
Anar opened her mouth, still massaging her clit, as Gregor tore open his britches. She licked but his cock remained flaccid. He threw her onto her back. “Open your legs!” She did. He knelt between her and held her chin in a vice-like grip. “Look at me when your fucked you little, orc-bitch.”
“Fuck her!” answered Anar. “Teach her! Fuck the little orc-bitch!”
Holding his still flaccid cock with the other hand, he tried to jab it into her. She held her legs wide. He slapped her. He shouted in frustration, then froze.
“You feel the blade?” She licked her lips.
Gregor didn’t answer, enraged but not daring to move. She continued, her voice breathy with arousal. “I could take them. I want them. But I want whats inside them, cuckold. You will give their stuff to me. I know how to get it. I know what arouses you. The wide hips and tits of your mate have found a thicker cock. They give it service, prefer it, and are female — open thighed, wet, submissive and receptive. She acknowledges his dominant cock.” Anar’s eyes fluttered. “You see how your cock betrays your balls? She lifted her hips, thighs wide, and lodged his erection in her abdomen. Then her movements were subtle, squeezing, pushing onto him again and again. “I know how to make your cock betray you; spit the stuff of your balls into me, the traitor, the little cuckolded cock, because it’s weak, because your not its master.” She drew her blade tighter against the base of his sack as she slid her smooth abdomen up and down his cock. He grimaced.
She wrapped her free hand round the back of his neck.
“I’ve been mounted many times. Thoc and the others mount me often, but though I’ve been filled by them a hundred times, an orc cannot breed an orc.” Gregor grunted again, his nostrils flaring. Anar’s voice grew softer, her eyes more piercing and watchful. “Do you know that I take the stuff of your balls here, right here, where Thoc filled your mate’s womb? Do you imagine it? — how she closed her eyes? — how she squeezed her tits as she rode him? Do you imagine him — hideous and grotesque — filling her womb? Do you imagine, female that she is, that she orgasms?”
Gregor bellowed. His eyes rolled. He shook in time with his spurts.
“Pathetic cuckold,” the girl cooed, “your cock submits. Your cock spits into me the stuff of your balls. Your cock betrays you.”
Gregor shook with a final spasm.
“I smell her impregnation,” said Anar. “Thoc breeds her.” The orc-girl took the blade from his balls and let go of his neck. Gregor rolled off and onto has back, eyes blankly staring through the treetops.
Anar pressed the tip of her middle finger into her cunt and withdrew it. The tip dripped with a web of semen. “I have taken your balls, Gregor.” She lowered the tip to the top of her cunt and traced it up and over her flat belly. “They’re inside me.”
Her eyes were moistened with something like happiness.
Gregor woke with a start. It was morning. They had made camp in the same clearing. His hand instinctively found his blade. He sat up, then saw the orc-girl bent over, throwing up in a green tangle of bushes and shrubs. She was squatting, a last drop of urine dripping from her open thighs. Gregor fell back onto one elbow, abruptly staring at nothing. Anar stood, turned, a palm on her stomach, and smiled at Gregor.
“This is not what you intended?”
Gregor said nothing.
“I wonder to myself: Why do you let your mate be taken by Orcs? You let her be captured — and she agrees to be captured. Why send a female among orcs? Is she a spy? If so, she conceals her knowledge. Why does she go among them knowing they will breed her. You know they are not so far ahead, yet you do not attempt her rescue. I see the skill with which you fight. I think there’s no fear in your heart and yet there is loss and yearning. It is humiliation you seek, no?”
“They cannot breed her.”
“I smell her impregnation, Gregor.”
“They have succeeded. Whatever magic you thought protected her, has failed her. Her womb is thick with Thoc’s cock and will grow heavy with it.”
“This wasn’t—” But Gregor didn’t finished the thought.
Anar, as if overcome by something inexpressible, stepped to him, withdrawing her blade. Gregor did nothing when she yanked open his breeches, pressed her blade to his throat, squatted and impaled herself and thrust hard, exhaling in time with her thrusts. “Tell me when you come, Gregor! Tell me to drive this blade into your throat. Tell me so that I can feel you spurting as you die — spurting your life into my womb!”
“Do it!” Gregor snarled, eyes wild.
They both convulsed, but Anar didn’t cut his throat. She kissed him desperately as his semen powerfully jetted into her grinding pelvis. She fell back onto both hands, the blade between her palm and the ground. “It’s fear,” she said, breathless. “It’s humiliation.” Gregor reached, pressing his thumb into her mouth. Then he fell backwards, supine, hands on her knees, then above him. He closed his eyes. She leaned over and lightly kissed him, lips on his. “Tell me to cut off your balls. I want you to be mine,” she whispered.
He shook his head.
“I’ll take them,” she said, sitting up. “I’ll take them and I won’t ask.”
Gregor held her tenderly when she threw up the next morning.
The harsh light of the Orc’s campfire cut through the leafy undergrowth of the forest. The shadows flickered and danced on the rock overhang behind the camp. Gregor could see his wife below. Her nipples were newly pierced and a long leash was connected somehow and somewhere between her legs. Thoc held the other end, leisurely stroking his cock. Her back was to the orc. She faced the fire, naked. Her lips was also peered. Thoc flicked the leash. Gregor heard is wife gasp and widen her knees, falling forward onto her hands and knees without turning. Thoc stood, still leisurely stroking his cock, and stepped behind her. He flicked the leash again and she shuddered, opening her thighs further and arching her back. Ready. Prepared. Thoc’s cock was longer and heavier than Gregor remembered.