- Just a quick note. I’ve done no blog formatting. I copied and pasted. Treat the story as an ongoing Rough Draft. I made some changes toward the end of Chapter 25. I added two more chapters. I’m introducing a couple new characters who will be woven into the larger story and Gregor’s troupe. Any feedback and encouragement is appreciated. The latter really does get results.
The Orc Anar
Erotica by William Crimson
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 tightened.
“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 stood behind her husband, one hand resting on his shoulder.
He turned violently. “Why did you agree to this?”
“I did not, my Lord,” she spoke sternly, “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 the 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.
“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 she didn’t dare admit–wild and fierce. 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 steps. 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 the warrior he was. He retreated. The three orcs followed, entering the room. He continued his retreat as if protecting 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 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 before him, and pressed the blade of her knife at his breeches. 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 opened Gregor’s breeches. She stood. She yanked his head back by the hair. “Watch,” she said. Her fingers circled his cock. The other placed the knife at the base of his ball sack. “Watch your wife. And when she comes on his cock, and 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. He tucked the ash pole under his right arm 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. Her stunned gaze met Gregor’s.
“I feel you hardening,” said the female, how behind him, now reaching around and under to milk him. “Look in her eyes. Watch her. They’ll show you when he fills her, when she submits. 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. Acknowledge her new owner.”
Gregor fiercely grunted. He spread his thighs. He saw Lucinda thrust forward hard and held there. Her eyelids grew heavy the moment her cunt submitted, gripping the orc’s cock compliantly again and again. Gregor’s first spurt struck the gritty floor under him. “Good boy,” cooed the female. “That’s it, keep spurting.”
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. 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 orc 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 bitch’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—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 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 bitch’s hands behind her neck and made her squat while he ate. He said nothing. He threw some food on the ground. 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 mixed with your mate’s urine.”
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—hard, thick, ready to thrust deeply inside them. 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. 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 them, they grab their hair and thrust them to their knees. The women are almost exhausted. They go slack. They’re on their knees. The orc thrusts his cocks into their mouths. ‘Taste it,’ they say. ‘Do you submit?’
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 prey. Thoc steps behind your mate. He sees by her cunt that she’s ready. She’s wet, cuckold.
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, 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. The thrusting is powerful. The cries of the girl and your mate intermingle. A cock that size—I know, as only a female knows, what it’s like to be mounted by a male and made to come on his spending.” 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 shows 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. 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 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 lead her 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 tightly round 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 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 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, 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 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 pack 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 she 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.”
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 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 and vanity. You would do anything I commanded. You would serve me as your Mistress. I might reward you, I might not, 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 break the human bitches. They put their hope in 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. 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 you’re fucked you little, orc-bitch.”
“Fuck her!” said 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. They are female, open-thighed, wet, submissive and receptive.” Anar’s lips curled. “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 and 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 cuckold-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. 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? Tell me.”
Gregor bellowed. His eyes rolled. He shook in time with his spurts.
“Pathetic cuckold,” the girl cooed. “Yes, you tell me everything, don’t 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. 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 can’t 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.”
“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. 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 leash was attached to them. Her back was to Thoc and the leash lay between her knees. Thoc leisurely stroked his cock, then knelt behind her, firmly pushing her onto her hands and knees.
When it was over, Gregor moved from the overhang’s edge and rolled 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 withdrawing from the flood of his wife’s womb played again and again behind Gregor’s closed eyes. He felt Anar’s fingers smoothly glide over the swell of his own cock.
“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—that an orc is incapable of appreciating beauty.”
Gregor didn’t answer. He suddenly he sat up, taking Anar forcefully by the hair. He led her into the dark and downwind where they couldn’t be heard. He threw the org-bitch ahead of him. 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 her 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 breeds? – on knees?—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, moving the way a 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’s a man?—that she the female?” 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? This is what we desire—the all consuming passion of a man—unbending, fierce, and 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 without a man.”
“Like a dog?”
“Yes, like a dog. Your 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! But not you, eh Cuckold?”
“What does an orc-bitch know about being a woman?”
Anar leapt backward but not before he had grabbed her arm. He threw her roughly to her knees and unbuckled his breaches. He knelt behind her. Anar turned, her lips curled with satisfaction. Gregor took her hair in one hand and forcefully bent her over. She arched, staring ahead as he maneuvered.
“You’re soft,” she finally said.
Gregor violently shoved her forward. He stood. 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, 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 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. 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 fastened leashes to their new clit rings. Small pearl sized stones hung from the rings.
The 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 came to an agreement. They raced back along the path by which they’d come.
Gregor crawled back from the edge.
“What are you 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 and turned his back against the nearest tree. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
He threw off her grip, pushed her backward. “Something’s gone wrong.”
She approached again but he used her own weight against her, pushing her forward against the tree she’d backed him against. She inhaled, gasping with pain as her collarbone and breasts were thrust against the 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 an 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 Orbard 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. 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 the 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,” Orbard 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 Gregor. They followed the path already taken by Thoc, Kaja and Gradik. The careful 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. “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 one of the orcs stopped. Blood poured from the center of his breast. The sharp barb of an iron arrow jutted
“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, 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 north sides were green with moss. The thick arms of tree roots clung, with a vice-like grip to the top of the boulder and sunk into the leaf-floor beneath. 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 descended, ready to kill if they tried to escape. Lorinda and Grethwin huddled between Gregor and the orcs.
Anar peered round 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 and whispered to it. As Ormagne’s men closed in, their footfall scrabbling through the leaves, 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 lay 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 glowing and drawn 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 boulder 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 interfering. “No!” cried Lorinda. Orbard lifted his wounded hand and gingerly felt the stumps with the other. Gregor watched with a half-cocked grin. The wound in his side was still seeping. He pressed it under the palm of one hand.
“Don’t!” said Anar.
“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, cheek against the boulder. “I’ll make you a 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 uttered a half-strangled ‘yes’. He didn’t dare move. Gregor threw the giant orc toward the others. The orc 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 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 off Lorinda, leaving the woman naked but for the leather strap at her hips. They pushed her to her hands and knees.
“She will choose which of us commands,” said Thoc, speaking with the thick accent of the orcan 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 to Thoc’s cock.
“Let her be,” said Gregor.
“Let her be?” He asked 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’s mated a eunuch.” He unfastened the leather strap round his waist, fringed at one end, and threw it at Gregor.
“Make her obey.”
“Stop it!” cried Lorinda, but she didn’t dare rise.
“Discipline her!” thundered Thoc. “Do you understand what a female desires.”
Gregor picked up the whip. He raised it.
“Give her direction,” said Thoc. “Give the female direction!”
“Please,” said Lorinda quietly to Gregor.
Gregor threw down the leather strap and backed against the boulder, eyes welling, his cock still flaccid. Thoc laughed and slowly walked to the strap.
“No,” pleaded Lorinda, “not like this; not in front of him.” She hurried to Gregor.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Lorinda shook her head. She untied her husband’s breaches, fixed her eyes on his and pulled his breaches down. She kissed his cock, licked its head, licked his balls.
“Why do you wait,” asked Thoc. “She begs for your cock!”
But Gregor remained flaccid.
Thoc strode to Gregor, his cock over Lorinda’s shoulder. “There can only be one of us deciding where, how, and 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 suck an erect cock?”
Gregor didn’t look. He heard his wife choke. Thoc snarled. “She takes my cock in her throat. She bathes it with her tongue.” Thoc backed away, pulling Lorinda by the hair, her nose pressed against his groin. When he let her go a web of silavia hung between her lips and the tip of his cock.”
Thoc struck Lorinda’s buttocks with the leather strap. When she reached to cover them he turned her, shoved her to her knees and elbows. He squatted behind her. The uncircumcised skin of his cock was drawn tightly back. The purple head pressed, parted then sunk into her. Lorinda dug into the leaf-floor as if pawing for escape.
Gregor only now began to harden.
There was something in Lorinda’s eyes he had never seen before. They went wide, turned upward and she came as the Orc powerfully inseminated her.
“We stay here tonight!” said Thoc, standing.. “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.”
“My Lord Thoc’s,” she answered.
“Go to my bed, human-bitch.” said Thoc.
He gestured to a drift of leaves to the edge of the small glade. “Lie on your back, and lift your knees.” Then Thoc spoke to Gregor once more. “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. She had just opened his breaches. She ground her warm, slick opening back and forth over Gregor’s hardening cock. Her nipples thickly jutted upright. 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?”
The 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, not inside her, but pressed between her cunt and his abdomen. “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.
“Ormagne’s man pursues us,” said Anar.
Gregor shuffled off the ache in his shoulder and the slowly diminishing pain of his wound. “We should have killed him.”
“He will not know where to find them.”
“We go to Thramog,” said Thoc. All of them stood. Gregor leaned with his back against a boulder. Kaja, Gradik and Orbard coversed among themselves as they adjusted their leather waist-belts and blades. Their tattoos rippled over the musculature beneath their green skin. Lorinda had swung Gregor’s overcoat over her shoulders. Orbard had finished Grethwin’s tattoo. She wore the leather cord of orc mate and nothing else. Both women shivered in the cold morning air.
Gregor took off his shirt and vest and tossed it at Grethwin. “Take it.”
“She doesn’t need it,” snapped Orbard.
“She’s not an orc-bitch,” said Gregor. “Give her something warm if you want your bitch to whelp for you.”
Orbard hissed dismissively but nodded at Grethwin.
“There will be blankets at Thramog,” said Thoc.
“Where are you scouts?” asked Gregor.
“Ormagne is the devil,” said Thoc. “If they haven’t returned by now, then they were slain at Thramog.”
The Orc village, Thramog, lay in ruins. Gregor, Thoc, and Anar had been the first to enter the clearning, then the others followed. Threnit and Gorm were dead. The barbed arrows of Ormagne’s men pierced their chests. There had been no battlements, an orc village is an encampment, hovels elaborately constructed under the stretched hides of animals. The women and children of the orcs were also slaughtered. Thoc and the other Orcs gave a great sobbing cry. Gregor stood in the midst of the carnage and said nothing. This was a kind of death he had seen many times.
“It’s him!” bellowed Orbard, furiously turning on Gregor.
“Widmere is burned,” Gregor answered quietly.
Orbard uttered a strangled cry and kicked at the bloodied high grass.
“Ormagne fights alongside elves.” Thoc gripped a broken blade in the pelvis of a dead Orc girl. The corpse shook as he powerfully dislodged its point from the bone. “The runish is Elven.”
“Why did you attack Widmere” asked Gregor.
“Why do we attack you?” Thoc gently closed the orc girl’s eyes. “Why do you kill us? Why does anyone kill anyone?”
“They knew where your village was. How?”
“This girl is dead,” said Thoc. “And her mother, father, brothers and sisters.”
“They knew,” Gregor repeated. “Look among your dead. Who’s not here? Who’s missing?”
Thoc grunted then barked a sharp command. The other Orcs at once strode from one corpse to another, quickly tallying the dead. They tore the hides from the hovels and turned bodies over. They said the names to themselves quietly as their long strides moved from one victim to the next. Grethwin, her arms crossed in front of her breasts, shoulders hunched, exhaled audibly and moved to one of the corpses. She squatted and pushed it onto its back, an Orc boy.
She undid the belt. She pried the blade from the corpse’s fingers. She put these round her own waist. She moved to another victim. There were arrows and a bow. She groaned, lifting the dead weight of the orc woman and slipped a quiver from her shoulders. Gregor said nothing. Grethwin was a warrior’s daughter.
“Read the blade,” said Gregor.
“It’s elven,” said Thoc.
Gergor nodded at his wife. “She speaks more than Orc.”
With three long strides Thoc brought the broken blade to Lorinda and held it to the sunlight. Lorinda squinted.
“Filirian,” she said. “These is a Filirian sword.
“Gimthyn is missing,” said the other Orcs returning from their tally. They made a circle round Thoc.
“Gimthyn.” Thoc repeated, his eyes hardening.
“Who is he?” asked Gregor.
“He trades with the elves.”
Gregor grunted. “And all the dead are Orcs—not a single Elf or human. They weren’t attacked. They were betrayed.”
“We go to Trebant,” said Thoc.
“What of the dead?” asked Lorinda.
“What of them?” said Thoc.
“Are you going to leave them like this?”
“Left to rot like slaughtered animals?”
“The place is cursed and their bones will mark it.”
“Do they mean nothing to you?”
“What they meant no longer exists,” interrupted Anar, finally speaking. “They did not crawl out of the dirt to be born and won’t be discarded in dirt. Flesh from flesh will be consumed by flesh.”
Thoc and the other orcs shouldered whatever arms they could muster and began their single file return to the forest. Lorinda watched, speechless, then reluctantly followed some ways behind the Orcs and the men.
Grethwin and Anar walked side by side. The ground was clear enough and the Shiftwood’s tall trees were far enough apart.
“You are a fighter?” asked Anar.
“Do you know Gregor?”
“He fought with my father.”
“It’s strange for human females to fight.”
Grethwin didn’t answer.
“You like my brother?”
“Yes,” but the girl’s answer was barely audible.
“If he is like me, then he’s a good lover.”
“Let her be” Orbard barked, walking ahead of the teens.
“You have your human bitch now,” snapped Anar. “If you don’t satisfy her, brother, I’ll cut your balls off.”
Orbard adjusted his shoulders.
“The Orc men,” said Anar to Grethwin, “like to fuck women. It doesn’t matter if they’re elf, human or orc. They like to fuck. You don’t mind if he fucks other women?”
“Do you like to fuck other men?”
“Maybe so,” said Anar, “if it arouses my lover.”
“Who is your lover?”
“It’s cruel to call him that.”
“Then you don’t know Gregor.”
“It humiliates him.”
“You know he calls you my brother’s ‘bitch’?”
Once again Grethwyn didn’t answer.
“You should practice with knives. Are you good with knives? Maybe you will find a ball-cutting knife like mine.”
“I don’t want one.”
Evening and a mile outside Trebant, the group paused. They drank and ate slough bread. Gregor tended to his wound. There was noise in the trading outpost. Lorinda was silent, then shifted uneasily.
“I want to speak to my husband,” she finally said.
“Speak to him,” answered the Orc, tearing at a piece of the tough bread.
Thoc curled his lips, flicked his fang with his thumb, then nodded back the way they had come.
Gregor stood. Lorinda led the way. They walked far enough to be hidden from view. “My Lord,” said Lorinda, “Gregor, our children! What have we done?” She gripped his arm, eyes welling.
“How do you know?”
“They’re no more children than we are, Lorinda. They fend. And they, none of them, were in Widmere.”
“What if they return?” she hissed. “The city burns!”
“They are not fools.”
Lorinda smoldered with a fear and regret that lurched in her like a hunted animal. “How can you be sure!”
“We knew that an attack came. We suspected betrayal. We weren’t alone in suspecting and neither were they.”
“If we had stayed!”
“Then likely dead.”
“What have we done?”
“We could not remain in Widmere. We could not leave it without being suspected. The orcs were our escape.”
“Coward. Had not Widmere burned,” asked Lorinda, “how long would you have left me with the orcs? How long following? How long spying? How long slinking after me like a spurned dog? How long watching them violate your wife.”
Gregor squatted, hands idle, looking anywhere but at Lorinda.
“Any other woman,” she knotted her fingers in his hair, “would have taken her own life. Give herself to the Orcs? Any other husband, let alone man, would have let his blood run dry first. You’re a coward. You’re pathetic. You’re not a man.” She fell to her knees. They kissed. Her right hand found his cock—thick and ready. His left hand, behind her neck, drew her kisses against his own. “What have we done?” she asked quietly. “What madness have we engaged in?”
“Myra and Balvard are grown. They will fend. Isabel is wife of Leofrick. They were not, none of them, in Widmere.”
“Gregor, it arouses me to humiliate you.”
“Does the Orc harm you?”
“No, Gregor.” Lorinda palmed his cheek and pressed her thumb against the edge of his teeth. “Thoc is firm. His cock his heavy, is thick with semen and goes deeply. He impales me, Gregor. He wounds me, as though a spear were thrust into me, and makes me, as though I were an animal, fear to disobey. He fucks me well, Gregor. He will take me into Trebant naked. He will show me off—the wife of Gregor. Warrior. Naked.”
“I want to fuck you.”
“You must ask Thoc’s permission and, Gregor, the permission of your orc girl..”
The orcs were sitting in a semi-circle when Gregor and Lorinda returned. Their powerful, green-skinned, muscular legs were stretched in front of them. Thoc sat with his back against a tree. Orbard was next to him. Grethwyn ate the bread he had offered her.
Kaja, the orc with the orange hair and Gradik, scarred and missing his left nipple, sat across from them. Anar licked the blade of her knife, her purple tongue longer than any human’s. The soft, succulent pulp of the Gorse Vine sat divided in her lap. Thoc grinned, lips drawn back on his fangs, and patted the ground next to him.
Lorinda, with slightest gesture, touched Gregor’s hand before she spoke. “My husband wants to fuck me.”
Thoc pulled aside his beaded loin cloth. His cock was already rising, the purple crown flattening and filling. “Why not?”
“I told him I needed your permission.”
Lorinda went to him. She knelt and the large orc casually leaned forward and took her by the hair gathered at nape of her neck. He grinned at Lorinda, almost quizzically, then at Gregor. Then without taking his eyes from Gregor’s own, he forced Lorinda to bend over, pushed his cock into her mouth and drove her up and down. Her hands went to his hands. “Is your rest almost over?” Thoc asked.
“Ormagne’s men will be at Trebant,” Gregor answered brusquely. Anar had already risen and stood by Gregor’s side.
“And the elves,” said Thoc.
“I know Lord Rulf.”
“Does he know your wife sucks an orc cock?”
Gregor didn’t answer at first, then finally, “You take risks, Thoc.”
“You call me by my name?” guffawed Thoc. “I am not a damned filthy orc?”
“You take risks.”
“Do you threaten me?”
“You will draw the attention of every man and enemy in the city.”
Lorinda squealed, a choked muffled cough of surprise, then began swallowing. Thoc exhaled.
“The answer to your question is ‘No’.”
“To what question Thoc?”
“No, you can’t fuck her. She’s swallowing my come—my orc come. You see it?—my cock twitches in her throat?”
“We’ll all be dead by nightfall.”
Thoc shook a last time, a deep rumble sounding in his chest. “Stay,” he said to Lorinda in the orcan tongue. He rose, his cock still tumescent, proud of his crotch, glistening with Lorinda’s saliva and his own come. He towered over Gregor, then the two men, orc and human, seemed to motionlessly circle each other.
“A slave girl,” said Thoc.
“Strip her,” said Gregor.
“Orbard will mark her.”
“What about the warrior,” said Gradik. “Who will believe a Northwall warrior walks with us?”
“Widmere is burned,” said Gregor without turning to the other orc. “Alliances change.”
“They will scoff at you,” sneered Gradik.
“So they will.”.
“Of course.” Anar glanced at Gradik with a sly grin,“Every predator has its stripes, Gradik—always the last thing you see.”
Trabant’s streets were tightly wound through narrow, two story buildings. The town made a semicircle against a single hill that made a natural defense for a modest stronghold. Sheer rockwalls descended on three sides. The town itself was the fourth defense. The two gates entering the town were open. Thoc’s group followed behind a wagon carrying captives from Widmere.
“Do you recognize any?” Anar asked Gregor.
“You will try to rescue them if you do?”
“The battle was lost,” Gregor adjusted his belt.
“You lie,” Anar smiled.
“Rescue them and do what? Who will provision them? Where will they go? Who would shelter and defend them?”
“Maybe they would join an Orc band, like you?”
The wagon they followed was flat with short wooden rails. The wheels were wooden with iron banding and it was drawn by two Fetter horses. Straw cushioned the wood slates of the wagon’s floor. Sixteen women and four men knelt on the straw. Their wrists were bound behind their backs. Their sender iron collars were leashed to ring bolted to the wagon’s slatted floor. The men were similarly restrained.
Gregor and the orcs followed a slaver.
Humans were the most desirable. Elves were beautiful but dangerous creatures without shame or conscience. Orc slaves were treacherous and immune to punishment. Goblins were sly creatures that could turn a household against itself. Dwarves were rock-ribbed beings from which little pleasure could be derived. Humans, captivating in pleasure and dangerous in captivity, were nevertheless the most desired, resembling in their variety Elves, Orcs and Goblins. None were slaves against their will, having themselves owned conquered slaves, and knowing that some of them might be freed again. The choice of a defeated enemy: life as a slave or death as a stateless rogue, thief and outlaw.
If the garrison town was too small for quarters separating humans, dwarves, elves and orcs, and though many preferred it that way, there were still stores and taverns that catered more readily to one race than another. Thoc and the orcs went to the tavern where they would draw little attention. Gregor and Anar went to the Heady Hole, a dark tavern off an alleyway that catered to dwarves. Gregor had an idea where the dragon’s eye was hidden. The alley was dark even on a sunny day, overshadowed by balconies and roof eaves, across from each other, that almost touched. The alley itself twisted between encroaching facades. Here there was no room of carts—only led horses, pack mules and foot traffic.
Gregor walked ahead. Anar followed. She looked with a sort of amusement at the shopfronts that grew less frequent as they walked ever more deeply into the alleyway. They walked on gray-green cobblestone with a malodorous bricked gutter that ran down the middle. The gutter was the only straight thing in the alley.
“I like them,” said Anar.
“Those,” said Anar, “pointing to jewels and gold-craft only just visible through windows that were like narrow slits. The narrow building was stone and for good reason. A sign hanging above the door was painted with the jeweler’s crest, hammer and golden anvil.
Gregor didn’t answer.
“For my ears,” said Anar, traipsing behind Gregor, “and my belly button.”
“They won’t like an Orc.”
“They’ll like me.”
“Be on your guard.”
“These are dwarves,” Gregor answered flatly.
“They don’t have sex?”
“Not this kind.”
“Maybe you have some dwarvish blood in you.”
Gregor swiveled his shoulders. The sign for the Heady Hole, a smiling dwarf’s head with a pick-axe through the middle, hung from fantastically ornate wrought-iron—Dwarvish work. They passed by two dwarves leaving. The diminutive men momentarily glared at them, then passed them by speaking Dwarvish—a sound like grinding stones. Gregor, then Anar, ducked into the tavern.
They stooped between two oak wooden posts, as though entering a mine, then threaded their way between darkly lit tables. Half were empty. The other half were kept by dwarves. Some ate. Some drank. Their beards and havy eyebrows kept their eyes all but hidden. Only one or two looked up to study Gregor and Anar.
“Greetings Barthur,” said Gregor.
A dwarf of medium stature, which was tall for dwarves, rose from a stool behind the low counter. He humphed when he saw Gragor and leaned against the opposite side. His thick, stubby fingers gripped the lip of the dark, oaken counter. “Arda ô brogin. You look none the worse.”
“What do you know?”
“I know Ormagne has burned Widmere .”
“And nothing else?”
“And that you stand before me alive.”
“Alive and thirsty for a Bodthin.”
“What about the Orc bitch?”
Gregor’s lips cracked with a wry grin, the closest to a smile Anar had yet seen. “She’ll have the same.”
“Yes, but what about her?”
“And what about your Goblin slut, Barthur?” Gregor asked.
“She’s only half Goblin.”
“Yes, and what about that Goblin half?”
“A slut through and through.”
“Is that a way to talk?”
“Well,” answered the Dwarf, his lips curling with satisfaction, “’tis the reason I married her. And you? Keeping company with orcs? Likewise?”
“How about that Bodthin?”
The dwarf grunted and turned to a tapped barrel. He quickly and efficiently filled a mug and set it in front of Gregor and Anar. “Now what about her?”
“Why do you care?”
“I like a good story.”
“So do I, Barthur; and the story I’d like to here is the one about a little mine in Sodenlan.”
“Oh that,” said Barthur, lingering on the word that. “Complete waste of time.”
“You’d think dwarves would know better.”
“Well now, see, the funny thing was, the master of the mine never let himself be known and the dwarves, and a smattering of misfit half-elves, were mercenaries. It wasn’t gold, silver, adamantine, precious stones or anything like that the master was after.”
“What was it?”
“Copper, so they say.”
And Barthur repeated more slowly. “So they say,”
Gregor leaned back, and finally drank from the flagon. He licked the foam from his lips and for the first time since Anar had known him, looked almost placid. “And that’s all?”
“It wasn’t anybody’s business.”
Gregor leaned both elbows on the counter. “Where do you suppose I could find one of these mercenaries?”
“Well, you might start with the Florimeign’s. Now that Widmere’s fallen, being an ally isn’t what it used to be. There’s a kid by the name of Lakeinan—a half-elf. They’ve got him in the flat house. Don’t know why, but he was one of them worked in the mine. He might know where it was. But you’d better hurry.”
The young woman stopped. She heard the hushed voice again.
A teen-aged orcan girl motioned to her from a narrow unlit passage. The only light was from the brief flickering of candles, behind shuttered windows, and the moon somewhere where she couldn’t see it.
“What do you want?”
“What’s your name?”
“Are you the girl brings meals?”
“Yes, for the prisoners—some of them.”
“I don’t know their names.”
“The half-elf, a little older than you.” The orc’s white teeth gleamed in the dark, but the orc, her own age and a female, wasn’t the threat that a man would have been.
“I know that one.”
“What do you know?”
“Only that I bring meals—that’s all.”
“Find out, what?”
“Why they imprison him?—what they want to do with him?”
Geyen said nothing. She turned from the passageway and continued along her way. She heard the orc girl’s footsteps, then was thrust back against the wall between two shuttered windows. She almost dropped the roll of linens with which she’d carried the food. The orc was her own size, but strong and wiry. She wore nothing but a cord over her waist with a knife, a pouch and cloth. Her skin was a tattooed, greenish-grey in the moonlight.
“What do you want?” the girl asked again, her breath nervous.
“My name is Anar.”
“Why do you look at me like I’m an animal.”
“You do,” Anar smiled. She wrapped her fingers round the girl’s throat. She reached behind her with her other hand, arched and slipped her fingers into her pussy—a brief catch of breath, an exhalation and she brought her glistening fingers to the girls lips. “Do you smell my fingers?”
“Yes,” answered the girl.
“What do they smell like?”
Anar’s fingers tightened round the girl’s throat. Geyen dropped the linens and held onto the orc’s wrist. “Say it, girl. What do they smell like? Say it.”
“Pu—Pussy,” the girl whispered.
“Why can’t you say that?” asked Anar. “Don’t you have a pussy too?”
“And what do you think your pussy smells like?”
“Like what?” asked Anar. “You don’t know? You’ve never smelled your pussy? I bet it smells like mine.”
“Yes!” answered the frightened girl.
“Do you want to lick my fingers?”
“Your pussy is no different than mine.” Anar smiled and loosened her grip. “We should stick together. Why do you look at me like I am an animal? I’m a woman, like you.”
“I think you know more than you’re telling me. Why turn so quickly when I mention the boy’s name?”
“It’s— It’s just—“
“Ha!” Anar’s smile broadened. “I see.”
“If you help me, I will help you.”
At first the girl said nothing, gazing fearfully back at the Orc, then seemed to make a decision. “Okay. But there’s nothing I can do.”
“What do you want?”
But that was more than the girl was willing to say.
“Use your pussy,” said Anar. The youthful woman jumped when she felt the orc’s finger split the lips of her pussy.
“Let me go!”
“If you help us,” Anar released her. “We’ll help you.”
“I’m a slave!” protested the girl, breaking away from the wall and Anar. She cautiously picked up the linens. “You can’t help me.”
“As are we all,” Anar licked her fingers.
The girl said nothing but scampered away with a nervous glance over her shoulder. The orange-haired Kaja stepped from the shadows. “Is this how women talk to each other?”
“You’re a fool, Kaja,” Anar rolled her eyes.
“Anar, you’re oversexed even by orcan standards.”
The next night, Lakeinen’s cell was empty. A tiny window let in only enough twilight to show where he had slept in the dirt. Geyen peered uneasily into the tiny cell. She bit her lip and hurried deeper into the bowels of the flathouse—a stone prison of cave-like cells built into the rock-face of Trebant. The hallway opened into a spade shaped dead-end with a semi-circular stone wall with manacles and a floor to ceiling wooden post in the middle. Lakeinen was manacled to the wooden post, wrists over his head. Geyen almost missed him in the musty dark of the room. The youth said nothing. His face and chest looked battered. His shirt and jacket were opened and he was naked from the waist down
“Why—” Her voice shook. “Why are you here?”
The half-elven youth gazed at her, then looked away without speaking.
“I might be able to help you,” she spoke softly.
A momentary smile seemed to flicker at his lips. He returned his gaze to the girl. “Isn’t it forbidden to speak to prisoners?”
He was silent for moment. “What happened to your face?”
She absent-mindedly touched the left side. “I was burned when I was little.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“You would have been beautiful.”
Geyen said nothing. She tried not to care about the youth or the orc. She mechanically unrolled the thin linen and took out a heel of bread.
“Just for me?” he asked.
“I do this for all the prisoners,” she answered flatly. “I keep them alive, sometimes long enough to be executed.” She lifted the bread to his mouth but he didn’t try to eat any. “I have many things to do today. Eat or I’m going.”
“A slave has better things to do?”
She jammed the bread back in the linen and rolled the cloth around it. “Yes, there are hungry dogs who would be glad for a piece of bread.”
“Food as would only please a dog.”
The girl turned to leave, then hesitated, and turned around. “They’re not going to let you go.”
“And you know this—“
“I know this because I’m the one who brings food to the prisoners. I see where they bring them and how they treat them.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Are you a criminal? If you’ve stolen a reliquary they’ll hang you. If you’re a vagabond they’ll brand your tongue. If they haven’t beaten you, they’ll brand you, beat you and sell you as a slave. Better that you’re a vagabond than a thief. They hang thieves. Almost always hang thieves unless your clergy. Can you read?”
The youth said nothing.
Geyen pressed her lips together. Then, having made a decision, she unwrapped the bread. She returned to the youth with two deliberative strides and before he could speak she had thrust the linen between his teeth. She drew the ends behind the post and knotted the corners. She glanced over her shoulder but saw and heard nothing, then stepped back.
A slave was forbidden lovers unless she were enjoyed by her master or her master’s children. And though it was a relief for Geyen that her Master showed no interest in her disfigurement, she sometimes shook with desire in an unwatched room between chores or in the night. She had spied, seen cocks, seeing without being seen.
Her pressed her palms agianst Lakeinan’s chest, gently, looking for some acknowledgement, some recognition, forgiveness, or tenderness. He only turned his head. She kissed his throat. Licked. Swallowed the taste of another’s skin. Sucked his nipple into her mouth. She followed his waist downward until she held the muscles of his buttocks. Her lips also descended, kissing, licking, biting the smooth musculature of his abdomen.
She was shaking. Nervous. Each breath almost a cry.
She smelled piss, fur and cock. Her heart pounded. Her ears rang. He was still soft. She pulled him toward her lips by his buttocks. She felt the muscles tight, then flinch when her lips and tongue touched the tip of his cock. She glanced. But he still looked away. She moved her lips over the skin of his cock, sliding the skin back as she took the tip into her mouth. His buttocks flinched again. He yanked at the iron holding his wrists above him but they didn’t release him. His cock was growing in her mouth. Widening. Lengthening. He tried to twist his hips but she held them firmly.
He was harder. The movements of her lips and tongue were quicker.
His fingers twisted above him. She could slide her lips and tongue back and downward. He was long. The warmth of his body radiated from his cock She wondered how such a heat would radiate inside her, in her womb, and she almost cried out with the intensity of her imagining. The youth stiffened. He struggled against his restraints, and then at last she heard a catch, a breath like the cry of a young boy—hapless, helpless, and like a cry for help, having refused so much else. His spine bent like a drawn bow and the first warm, taste of semen burst in her mouth. Another and another followed.
He gasped for air. She swallowed, faint with the taste of him and the desire for more.
He hung slack, listlessly from the pole, cock already softening, twitching. She stood, wanting him to meet her gaze, to see what she would have willingly revealed, but he still refused to look at her. She reached, undid the linen gag, then impulsively kissed his chin, his cheek and bit. He didn’t turn away.
She hurriedly fled the prison, stunned with the taste of a man in her mouth, on her tongue and glistening lips.