The Orc Anar
Erotica by William Crimson
- Will Crimson continues his foray into Fantasy Erotica. This is a continuing commission from a reader who enjoys cuckoldry. The original installment is here. I’ve included the first installment in this post (since I made a couple minor corrections). If you’ve already read the first part, then Chapter 10 begins the second part. It took me a spell to begin this, being a bit stumped as to what direction to go. But I’m pleased with the closing two chapters and the direction the story is going. Enjoy.
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 to 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? 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 six males. Four 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 what’s 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 at 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.
When it was over, Gregor moved away from the overhang, rolling onto his back. He stared through the forest’s dark and fire-flickered canopy. Anar sat on her hip and leaned back on an arm. The gleaming length of the orc’s cock, glistening and tumid, withdrawing from the flood of his wife’s womb, played again and again behind Gregor’s closing eyes. He closed his eyes. He felt Anar’s fingers smoothly glide over the swell of his own cock beneath his breeches.
“She’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“What would you know?”
“Because I’m an orc?”
“Yes, because you’re an orc?”
“That’s an ugly thing to say.”
Gregor didn’t answer. Then suddenly he sat up, taking Anar forcefully by the ar. He led her into the dark. Far enough, downwind and where they couldn’t be heard. He threw the org-bitch ahead of him, but she didn’t stumble. She caught herself gracefully and spun, facing him on her haunches. She eyed him with something like amusement and curiosity. Her yellowish irises gleamed in the moonlight and greenish skin was more like a dark gray.
“What have orcs ever built?” Gregor spat.
“What have humans built?”
“Houses, roads, cities, civilization—”
“Prisons, warfare, enslavement, and lies—”
“All creatures but mankind are despicable, soulless, not made by the same God, deserve or relish life — just life.”
“Orcs hunt like dogs, scavenge like dogs, breed like dogs—”
“Like your wife bred? – on knees? – obediently turned? – cunt lifted and mated from behind?”
Gregor said nothing, lips tight, eyes watery.
Anar stood, satisfied, eying Gregor with a predator’s confidence. “You never fucked your mate from behind.”
Gregor said nothing.
“Not once? Never? You? A warrior? Haven’t fucked your mate from behind?” Anar circled behind him, she pressed her pelvis against his ass, softly moving the way man mates with a female from behind. “Because why? You think it demeaned her? What kind of man doesn’t remind his mate that he is a man? – she the female? – doesn’t dominate her? – doesn’t mate her because she is the female and must be mated?” Anar licked his ear. “– as if she were his and his alone? – forcefully?”
“We’re not dogs.”
“You think it demeans? I’ll tell you what demeans a woman: when you are not a man. You cannot imagine, can you, what it is like when a man pursues you? Nature makes us to be penetrated. This is what we desire – the all consuming passion of a man —his cock — as unbending, as fierce, as unforgiving as his cock.” Anar closed her eyes and leaned her head on Gregor’s shoulder, lips just at the soft skin under his ear. “We cannot be a woman, submit, wihout a man who dominates us. And you rob us of unspeakable pleasure if we can’t be consumed by your passion.”
“Like a dog?”
“Yes, like a dog. You’re mate was fucked like a dog. Did you see her on all fours?” Anar’s fingers brushed Gregor’s crotch. “Finally. To be fucked like a dog! – like a bitch! Did you see how she clawed the earth? How she yearned for it? Did you hear her cries? You heard a woman! Finally, mated the way a woman desires and deserves to be mated. But not you, eh Cuckold?”
“What does an orc-bitch know about being a woman?”
Gregor turned. Anar leapt backward but not before he had grabbed her arm. He threw her roughly to her knees and unbuckled his breaches as he knelt behind her. Anar turned, her lips turned with satisfaction. Gregor took her hair in one hand and forcefully shoved her to her hands. She arched, staring ahead, as he maneuvered but nothing happened.
“You’re soft,” she finally said.
Gregor violently shoved her forward so that she lay on her side. He rose to his feet. Paced in a tight circle, withdrew his blade, then held it above Anar, his expression furious.
“You cannot even fuck an orc-bitch from behind?” said Anar.
“Because you’re not my wife.”
“And you couldn’t if I were!”
Gregor thrust his blade with a lightning speed into the earth by Anar’s ear. She cried out, momentarily frightened. “Why do you provoke me?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Anar and Gregor had fallen asleep side by side. A soft breeze rustled the Shiftwood canopy – or was it the trees themselves? The earliest hint of morning was turning the black sky a deep purple. Anar sat up quickly, smelling the air. She shook Gregor’s shoulder.
“Do you smell it?” she whispered.
Gregor shook his head. “No.”
“No, this is the smell of battle.”
Gregor quickly sat up. “Widmere!”
“I don’t know.”
“I smell it now.”
“The wind has shifted. We’re downwind.”
“They’ll be confused by the scent of the fire.”
“Maybe,” Anar answered. “Do you still pursue your mate?”
Gregor grunted at her question. He turned and pushed himself to one knee, flinching with stiffness in a shoulder, then brushed leaves and soil from his tunic and knees.
“You pursue and yet do nothing.”
Gregor stood and slung his blade over his shoulder, preferring it to his hip. He quietly hurried back toward the overlook. Anar followed. The Orcs were awake. They were speaking quietly among themselves. Gregor immediately surmised what he’d needed to know. The scent of warfare was unexpected. Whatever had happened, the orcs hadn’t known and neither had Lorinda. He saw the girl. Gorforin’s daughter! His muscles twitched. For an instant, he had imagined descending, but his wife and the girl were on their knees. The women were too vulnerable. He felt Anar’s shoulder against his own. She watched silently at his side.
“She’s scrawny,” whispered Anar, peering at Gorforin’s daughter. The girls’ breasts were not as full as Lorinda’s or Anar’s, but her nipples were hard, her neck and face flush. Her lips were parted as though she had been panting. Lorinda’s hips were wider, rounder, and her blond hair fell in ringlets over her shoulder. The small of her back arched in that way that accentuates femininity. Anar readily understood Gregor’s attraction and also bit her lip with a twinge of jealousy. “Orbard has enjoyed his new mate, but Thoc—” Her whispering trailed off as she observed the males. They bound the human females with wrists at the small of their backs and tied their clit leashes, dwarf-linked chains made from adamant, each to a large round stone between their knees. Why? Then it gradually became clear. The males orcs were splitting up.
One stayed behind to guard the captive females. Two orcs gave short grunts, the hand of one briefly on the shoulder of the other, then both turned and ran silently into the still dark underbrush. Gregor guessed they were headed to the same destination they had, until this morning, all been headed. Thoc, Orbard and another younger Orc briefly exchanged glances, short, sharp guttural vocalizations, then seemed to come to an agreement. They raced back along the path by which they’d come.
Gregor crawled back from the edge.
“What are doing?” asked Anar.
Gregor didn’t answer. He stood and quietly wove his way into the morning’s weakening shadows. Anar followed. When they were out of ear-shot, she took his shoulder, following him, and turned him, throwing his back against the nearest tree. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
He threw off her grip, pushed her backward. “Something’s gone wrong.”
“What are you doing?”
She approached, to push him again, but he used her own weight against her, pushing her forward against the tree she’d first backed him against. She inhaled, gasping with pain as her collarbone and breasts were thrust against the tree’s rough bark. Gregor twisted one wrist up, then lashed the leash around it.
“What are you doing?” she snarled, struggling.
Her other wrist followed, bound to the other, then the remaining length was cinched round her throat. He took her dagger and sheathed it behind his back. He took her by the hair and yanked her to her knees. “Gorforin’s daughter was never part of this.”
“Part of what?”
“I don’t know how the hell—“
“Don’t kill him!”
Gregor snorted and unsheathed his blade. He was leaving.
Gregor stopped. “I won’t kill him,” he answered without turning.
“He’s my brother,”
“What’s the orc’s name?”
Gregor returned and this time he roughly gagged the orcan girl. “Don’t move, god-damn you!” Gregor growled.
This time there was no turning back.
There are few men who can surprise Orc. Gregor was one of them.
He tread with a deadly silence until he stood within two strides of the orc’s broad back. How easy it would have been to kill the creature. The male was etching a tattoo into the back of Gorforin’s teen daughter. She was bent over, breathing with small, sharp breaths, almost like cries, as Kaja tattooed his tribe’s mark at the base of her spine.
Gregor hissed. The orc turned with lightning speed, armed only with the ink-stained needle. The butt of Gregor’s blade met the orc’s jaw. Orbard half leapt, half stumbled backward. The girl screamed. The orc fumbled for the long knife at his hip, held by the thick leather, waist cord, but Gregor pressed his attack. He cut the long knife out of the orc’s had, and two fingers with it. Orbard cried out, rage, fear and pain. The next blow came with the flat of Gregor’s sword against the orc’s skull. The blow was powerful enough to stun the orc, now rolled into abdomen and elbows, blood streaming from his hand and one eye bloodied.
“Stop!” cried the girl.
Gregor pressed the tip of his blade against the base of the orc’s neck. If the orc recovered quickly enough, he might avoid the cut. If not, the tip would sever his spine. The orc’s large frame shivered but he didn’t move.
“Do you speak?” asked Gregor.
“Yes!” answered the orc.
Lorinda spoke. “My Lord!” But the Orc was too dangerous. Gregor didn’t answer her. “How?” he asked the orc.
“My mother is human.”
Gregor turned the tip of his blade so that a trickle of blood escaped. “How does it feel, my tattoo?”
“Why don’t you kill me?”
“I made a promise.”
“Promises!” snorted the orc. “From a human?”
“Don’t kill him!” begged thee girl.
“I could break it,” said Gregor, paying no attention to Gorforin’s daughter.
The orc didn’t answer at first, as though considering. “She lives?”
“She’s my sister,” the gravel-voiced orc answered.
“The orc-bitch is alive.”
“What do you want?”
There was another silence. Gregor drew the blade’s razor tip down, opening a small gash. “I promised you’d live, but with how many fingers, arms, legs?”
“Two orcs go to Thramog,” Kaja answered quickly, “our encampment. Thoc, Kaja and Gradik go to discover the battle-smell.”
“They don’t know?”
“It comes from your city.”
“There were more than six orcs that attacked us. Where are the others?”
“We divide to avoid pursuit.”
“Why did you attack?”
“Breeders,” Gregor corrected.
“Those who stay, stay willingly.”
Gregor’s jaw clenched. He lifted the blade from the orc’s neck. “I haven’t harmed your sister. She lives. But if I give the command, if you defy me, she’ll be killed.”
The orc didn’t move. Gregor tied his wrists behind his back, then turned to his wife and Gorforin’s daughter.
“They don’t know,” said Lorinda as Gregor released her wrists. Gorforin’s daughter still hadn’t met Gregor’s eyes. With another flick of his blade, he cut the bindings holding the girl’s wrists. She hurriedly removed the clit-leash.
“I’m sorry,” Gregor said to the teen.
“I can’t go back like this,” she said. “My family would shun me.”
“Where were you? How did they capture you? Did they breach the ring?”
The girl cupped her pussy, still full with the memory of an orc’s cock. “I was sent to warn you.”
The teen’s eyes widened.
“Gregor!” Lorinda objected.
“Gorforin wouldn’t send his daughter as a messenger.”
The teen didn’t answer, but glared at Gregor, gnawing her lip.
“Stand up,” said Gregor flatly.
The teen gracefully stood, eyes cast down, lips parted, embarrassed to be naked before Gregor.
“Leave the orcs.”
“Tied?” the girl objected, glancing at Orbard. “He’s bleeding!”
“The others will be back by nightfall.”
“And if they’re not?”
“Mind your place!” Gregor countered. “What am I to do? You? Stripped of clothes! And am I to bring the orc and the orc-bitch as prisoners?”
Gregor walked behind Orbard and Anar, both with their wrists at their backs. Lorinda and Grethwin, Gorforin’s daughter, walked behind. They followed the path already taken by Thoc, Kaja and Gradik. The carefully planned plan had failed. Gregor’s suspicions were aroused.
A greyish-white smoke rose from the distant bluff, black just a few hours before. Widmere had been sacked. Gregor said nothing, kneeling on one knee. They peered from atop a stony bluff overlooking the downhill canopy of trees and the further plain. Grethwin wore Gregor’s tunic and Lorinda his overcoat; naked but for these. Anar had come forward, standing beside and above Gregor. Grethwin was behind Orbard, tending to the stumps of his little and adjacent finger. The orc flinched but showed no other sign of pain.
“Leave the orc’s fingers.” Gregor said without turning. “They’ll mend.”
Grethwin glanced at Gregor, tightened a cloth bandage, and backed away from the orc.
“I do not like the smell,” said Anar, her wrists still crossed at the small of her back.
“Gregor!” Lorinda spoke sharply, impatient with Gregor’s silence. “They may need our help!”
“How do we return?”
“Into what? If not orcs, then who attacks Widmere? If our enemies—”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“But we would know!”
“Would we?” Gregor eyed Grethwin in turn. “Where were you?”
“I was sent to warn you!” repeated the girl.
“Warn me of what? Why you?”
“He said– He said we had been betrayed.”
“By the one you mentioned! The Lord—” The girl faltered.
“Yes, that name!”
“We must!” said Lorinda.
“And what of the orcs? Leave them? Tied? Untied? Take them with us? Cut them down?”
No one answered.
Gregor stared at the girl momentarily, then turned away. “He sent you to save you.”
“How is that—“
“Ormagne’s forces would have killed you,” Gregor interrupted, his back still turned to her. “Better to be enslaved by orcs.”
“Undo my wrists,” said Anar.
Gregor didn’t answer, lost in thought.
“He’s my brother,” persisted Anar. “If I tell him—“
“Tell him what? I’ve cut off two of his fingers, humiliated him.”
Anar spoke to her brother in the orcan tongue. An expression of surprise widened his eyes. He bared his teeth, moving toward Gregor but Anar hissed and shouted at him. He stopped, glanced at Anar, then at Gregor, then at Anar. His shoulders reluctantly slumped.
“What did you say?”
Lorinda answered Gregor, her eyes welling. “She said you mated her – and that she’s chosen you.”
Gregor turned on Anar and Anar backed away. “I didn’t know!” she glanced frantically at Lorinda. “I didn’t know she spoke the tongue!”But then, whatever Gregor might have thought or said was forgotten. The three orcs Gregor had carefully avoided, appeared at the lip of the bluff. They had been running. They stopped immediately, glanced behind them, then at Gregor, then drew their blades.
“Gregor!” begged Anar. “My wrists!”
Gregor paid no attention. He advanced on the arcs, but had only taken two steps when when of the orcs stopped and blood began to poor from the center of hist breast. The sharp barb of an iron arrow jutted through him.
“Gregor!” screamed Anar.
“Ormagne’s men!” Gregor shouted and flicked Anar’s knife to his wife. “Cut her loose!”
The orc that had been pierced by the arrow, collapsed, dead. The other two, Thoc and Gradik, with nothing to lose, howled and charged Gregor, but Gregor turned his back. Orbard was just three strides away. Gregor swept the orc’s feet out from under him and knocked him face down. He cut the bonds at the orc’s wrists with a quick swipe of his sword, cutting skin too, but there wasn’t time. Orbard freed his wrists. Rolled away and to his feet. Gregor tossed him his short knife, handle first.
Thoc and Gradik were almost on Gregor, but now stopped, confused. Anar spoke the orcan tongue, barking commands. There wasn’t time for negotiation. “Run!” shouted Gregor. Gregor was the last off the bluff. An iron tipped arrow sank into the tree next to him. They ran down root bound boulders and between trees. They reached the bottom of the near ravine, then backed themselves against a giant split boulder that had fallen hundreds of years before. The and north sides were green with moss. The thick arms of tree roots clung, with a vice-like appearance, to the top of the boulder and sunk into the leaf-floor around it. Gregor heard the shouts of Ormagne’s men. They were spreading out, surrounding them. The archer was the dangerous one. He’d be high, close to the bluff they’d just descended, ready to kill them if they tried to escape. Lorinda and Grethwin huddled between Gregor and the orcs.
Anar peered around the edge of the boulder, then turned back with a sly glance at Gregor. She dug into the satchel, and brought out the man-wolf’s ball sack. She kissed it, massaged it in her fingers, and whispered to it.
And then, as Ormagne’s men closed in, their footfall in the leaves growing nearer and nearer, a scream echoed across the ravine.
“He’s dead,” said Anar.
Anar grinned wickedly, then held the ballsack to her lips, kissed them again, and whispered another command.
“The marksman,” said Gregor. He nodded to the other orcs and they understood.
Eight of Ormagne’s men were dead, scattered in the ravine. Gradik and Gregor had been wounded, but not so grievously that Gregor couldn’t hold his blade to the throat of the surviving commander. He was on his back, bleeding from from his abdomen, wearing the black and red colors of Ormagne.
“Widmere?” asked Gregor.
“Ours. Destroyed. Obliterated.”
“We’ll rebuild. Ours. By rights.”
The large man laughed. “Is this what you’ve come to? Consorting with orcs and man-wolves?”
“Why?” Gregor asked again, driving the point of his blade under the soldier’s jaw.
“If I live—“
“Would you have let me live?” asked Gregor. The soldier squirmed. “Good to kill, isn’t it, until it’s your turn to be killed.”
“He wants the eye.”
“The dragon’s eye, Ordmat.”
“That’s where no man can find it.”
“If I had my will.”
The soldier laughed. “Then Ormagne will find it. What any man can hide, another can find.”
“You want to live?” asked Gregor.
The soldier didn’t answer.
“Then live,” said Gregor to the sound of Anar’s blade drawn, glowing, from its sheath. A high pitched scream, like a woman’s, echoed in the hollow.
They walked in a line, four orcs, Gregor, Anar, with Lorinda and Grethwin in the middle. This time, Gregor didn’t conceal his wry smile when Anar pulled the soldier’s balls from her satchel and studied them, dangling between her two fingers.
“A wicked habit,” said Orbard, from behind Gregor.
“Does it frighten you, brother,” asked Anar, without turning. “Every woman collects balls.”\
“Yes, but you keep them.”
They stopped shortly before nightfall, midway along a slope where the ground flattened and there was the protection of a coulder on one side. Gregor backed against the boulder and now, finally, the four orcs surrounded him, tall and broad shouldered. Anar tried to move into the half-circle but Orbard pushed her back. Anar, by turn, prevented Lorinda from entering the circle of orcs. “No!” cried Lorinda. Orbard lifted his wounded had and gingerly felt the stumps with the other. Gregor watched him with a half-cocked grin. The wound in his side was still seeping. He pressed it under the palm of one hand.
“Why not?” asked Thoc.
“Because you’d be dead without him.”
“And he’d be dead without us,” said Orbard.
“He mated me!” Anar rejoinded.
“He owes me a finger,” said Orbard, his voice gravelly and menacing.
“You want one? An eye for an eye? Here it is,” said Gregor, giving Orbard the finger. Orbard’s blade flashed from its holster and just as quick Gregor was holding Orbard’s own blade at his throat, bending him over with his cheek against the boulder. “I’ll make you better a deal,” said Gregor. “In exchange for those fingers, I’ll teach you how to fight. Agreement?”
The orc growled with fury, shook, but finally, nostrils flaring, uttered a half-strangled ‘yes’. He didn’t dare move. Gregor threw the giant orc back toward the others. He tripped on his own footing, landing backward on his hip and hands.
Thoc studied the stout human, half his size, half his strength.
Then he sneered and gestured to the Kaja and Gradik. They answered with half nods, then all three stood back. Kaja and Gradik went to Lorinda and brought her, released by Anar, between Gregor and Thoc. Gregor fingered his blade. The orcs yanked Gregor’s overcoat, leaving the woman naked but for the leather strap around her hips. They pushed by her shoulders until she was on hands and knees. Her breasts hung down.
“She will choose which of us commands,” said Thoc, speaking with the thick accent of the organ tongue.
Gregor didn’t answer.
Then Thoc spoke harshly to Lorinda in the orcan tongue. At first she didn’t move. He spoke again, his cock thickening and lengthening with the force of his command. Lorinda glanced at Gregor, then at the orc.
“No!” she said, but her eyes moved fearfully from Thoc to his cock.
The orc grinned.
“Let her be,” said Gregor.
“Let her be?” Then he asked again, scornfully, “Let her be? Is this how a warrior is ruled by a female? She disobeys!”
“She’s a right to make her own decisions.”
“What you must think of orcs!” sneered Thoc, his voice was deep and rough. “We are savages? We rape our females? Our females fight at our sides, are our equals in all but what makes them female. But you, cuckold. Look at you. Your cock hangs like spoiled fruit. She has mated a eunuch.” He unfastened the leather strap around his waist, fringed at one end, and threw it at Gregor.
“Stop it!” cried Lorinda, but she didn’t dare rise from her hands and knees.
“Discipline her!” thundered Thoc. “Do you understand what a female desires.”
Gregor picked up the whip and stepped to Lorinda. He raised the whip. She didn’t move, but shook and her breathing shook.
“Give her direction,” said Thoc. “She is a female!”
Lorinda turned, saw Thoc, turned back to Gregor. “Please,” she said.
Gregor threw down the leather strap and backed against the boulder, eyes welling, his cock still flaccid. Thoc laughed and slowly stepped to the strap.
“No,” she said quietly, pleading, “not like this; not in front of him.”
She hurried to Gregor, still on her knees. “What are you doing?” asked Gregor, but Lorinda shook her head. She untied her husband’s breaches, her eyes fixed on his, and pulled them down. She kissed his cock, licked its head, licked his balls.
“Why do you wait,” asked Thoc. “She begs for your cock!”
But Gregor’s cock remained flaccid.
Thoc strode to Gregor and Lorinda, his cock over her shoulder, she at their knees and between them. Thoc’s arm was over Gregor’s shoulder, palm against the boulder. He loomed over Gregor. There can only be one of us to decide where we go, how we fight, who we fight.” Then the Orc’s defiant stare was interrupted. “Your mate sucks my cock. She licks it. Do you want to look? Can you hear her? — your mate’s lips and tongue sucking an ‘erect’ cock?”
Even when Thoc’s other giant hand descended and Gregor heard his wife choke, then nothing but bursts of breath through her nose. Thoc groaned, never taking his eyes from Gregor. “She takes my cock in her throat. She bathes it with her tongue. She submits. You see?” Then Thoc backed away, pulling Lorinda by the hair, her nose pressed against his groin, cock in her throat. When he finally pulled it out, she inhaled, a web of silavia between her lips, tongue and the tip of his cock. She gazed up at him, knees part, lips parted, panting, tits flush and hanging down.
“You see?” said Thoc, his fist still in her hair. “You see how she looks up at me. You see how she arches her back? How she spreads her knees? You see a female? She understands. She waits for me – the male – to inseminate her.”
Thoc suddenly whipped Lorinda’s buttocks with the leather strap. She gasped and panted. He whipped her again. He pulled her by the hair, parading her in circles, whipping her. Soon she lifted her pussy up and behind her. Her tongue extended over her bottom lip, lips parted, as she tried to lick Thoc’s cock, tried to please him, tried to show her submission. He continued to whip her. Her efforts to suck him, take him in her mouth, to please him, grew frantic. He laughed and teased her with the bulb of his cock until he finally let go of her hair. She grasped his hips and frantically took him in her mouth, sucking, gazing up at him, knees parted, hips rising and fulling.
Gregor was still flaccid.
Thoc turned Lorinda so that she faced Gregor on her knees and elbows and squatted behind her. His pressed his length downward, the uncircumcised skin drawn tightly back, the purple head mushroomimg on the greenish, thick stalk, aimed, then sunk into the submissively lifted cunt. Lorinda groaned aloud, her fingers suddenly turned to claws, nails digging into the leaf-floor, eyes rolling, as the orc’s impossible length and girth filled her abdomen from behind.
The sounds of her fucking filled the dark glade.
“Look at him,” said Thoc.
Lorinda met Gregor’s gaze who now, finally, too late, was hardening. There was something in her eyes: submission, pleasure, defiance, a wildness that Gregor had never seen before. “To whom do you submit?” Thoc demanded as he fucked her. “To which cock do you award your cunt?” Lorinda responded by thrusting her arched back upward, engulfing the cock that already impaled her. Her eyes went wide, turned upward, and she came. Her orgasm burst around the circumference of the orc’s cock and dribbled down her thighs as he powerfully inseminated her, powerfully rocked by each spurt.
He let her go, she fell forward on elbows and knees, cunt lifted, nipples in the dirt.
His cock sprang upward, glistening with insemination. Lorinda’s eyes were half-closed, stunned, as if half-drunk with the heat in her womb.
Gregor’s cock was finally erect. Thoc laughed. “We stay here tonight! The cuckold will take the first watch. Orbard, your quarrel with Gregor ends. You will learn how to fight from Gregor. If you defy me Orbard, I will take the rest of your fingers.” Thoc leered at Gregor, then he spoke to Lorinda. “Tell your mate whose seed is in your womb.”
“Yours,” she answered, still breathless.
“Tell your ‘husband’!” demanded Thoc.
Lorinda met Gregor’s gaze with need, but there was also defiance and pleasure, “My Lord, I am filled by the seed of a new Master.” Her lips parted, her shoulders lowered, her cunt lifted behind her as her knees spread, and her tongue pierced her lips for just a moment as she studied Gregor. Her husband was thick and hard.
Thoc groaned at the site of her. “Go to my bed, human-bitch.” He gestured to a drift of leaves to the edge of the small glade. “Lie on your back, open and lift your knees.” Then Thoc spoke to Gregor once more that evening. “Go masturbate. Turn your back. Piss your seed in the dirt while I fuck your human-bitch again. Your cock offends me.”
Gregor woke, startled in the middle of the night. Anar was above him, naked, as she preferred. She had just opened his breaches, and ground her warm, slick opening back and forth over Gregor’s hardening cock. Her nipples jutted upright, thick and distended. The grinning, teen-aged orc pressed her finger to Gregor’s lips, then leaned over and kissed him, her tongue entering his mouth. Then she leaned further, her lips at his ear. “You arouse me, cuckold.”
“What are you doing?”
Her tip of her blade pressed underneath his jaw. “You let Thoc humiliate you.”
Gregor didn’t answer at first. The warm, slick, opening between Anar’s thighs pressed at his cock again and again. “Yes,” he finally answered.
“I don’t know.”
“You lie,” she whispered. Then she kissed him again. “Your mate isn’t pregnant, but she will be.” Again, Gregor was silent. “I know,” Anar continued. “There is a magic— Is it magic? She smells of whelping, but she is not yet. Maybe tonight Thoc’s cock has gone deeply enough?”
Anar roughly parted Gregor’s tunic with one hand. Then she traced the tip of the runic blade down his chest, over his abdomen, and under his balls. She continued to ride her clit on Gregor’s cock. “I could cut it off, but what difference would it make? Eh, cuckold? You could have cut down Thoc easily, and yet you did nothing when he mated your bitch.” She bit her lip. “You arouse me, Gregor.” Her eyes welled and she kissed him again. Then her free hand tightly gripped his shoulder, her nails bit into the muscles, cutting, she bit his other shoulder, and she came with small, high-pitched gasps. When it was over, she smiled at him and lay down next to him, her head on his shoulder. Gregor’s own semen, glistened in moonlit lines from his navel to his throat.