The Orc King's Captive (6 page)

The creature lifted her from the
floor, turning her over so that she hung suspended face-up over the cobbles.
She felt rubbery digits grasping at her dress, ripping it to shreds and
exposing her to the crowd. Her nakedness was met with a thunderous round of
approval.

The narlug swung her about like
a doll, tightening its grip about her arms and legs at it slithered around the
chamber. She struggled against it, kicking her legs and straining her arms but
her efforts were useless. It was like trying to fight quicksand.

A mass of smaller tentacles
emerged from its mouth, bright pink tendrils with moisture seeping from their
tips. They roamed over her body like serpents and everything they touched
thrilled with excitement.

She bucked and groaned. The
unexpectedness and intensity of the sensation were almost too much. The viscous
secretion was stimulating her like a thousand caressing tongues, filling her
body with passion and unwanted heat. It was like a poison that infused her with
pleasure instead of pain.

No, no, no, not this,
she
thought as she felt herself grow wet with excitement.
Anything but this.

The nimble appendages coiled
around her breasts, constricting her nipples as they squeezed her, making them
burn with excitement. They slid over her thighs and wrapped around her
buttocks, wriggling into her anus and slithering one after the other into her
cunt.

The moment she felt the fingers
inside of her, she came, moaning uncontrollably. Her body spasmed, almost
wrenching itself from the beast's grasp as her muscles contracted. The
sensation was overpowering, the slick tendrils filling her with bolts of pure
ecstasy.

It doesn't feed only on
terror,
she realized,
but any strong emotion.
It was feeding off her
pleasure.

She felt it spreading her
thighs, and instead of fighting it, she welcomed it, desperate and hungry to be
penetrated.

A long, thick shaft emerged from
the center of the narlug's mouth. Unlike the tentacles, this appendage was
rigid and a wide crown fattened the tip, after which it grew narrow before
widening again. This wasn't another tentacle, but an actual penis. The creature
meant to impregnate her.

She felt herself being pulled
down, felt the bulbous tip slide between her wet folds and bury itself deeply,
throbbing with a strong pulse. Small tendrils slithered through her folds,
stimulating her skin and homing in on her clit.

She came again, bucking wildly
as the tendrils stroked her pearl. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced
before, a sensation of raw sexual release that left her gasping for breath and
desperate for more. The intensity of her lust terrified her. If Kerlok didn't
step in, she'd impale herself on this creature until she died of exhaustion.

The narlug's cock thrust into
her rhythmically, stroking her hypersensitive channel to another easy orgasm.
She clung to its tentacles, urging it on, begging it to continue. The coils
tightened around her breasts, massaging them almost painfully as it penetrated
her fore and aft. The collection of thin tendrils in her anus were making her
buttocks clench erratically as they stimulated her, bringing her off yet again,
fast on the heels of her previous release. She felt the last traces of her will
to resist crumble as she writhed and moaned in ecstasy.

She felt the narlug's muscles
tighten and quiver as its cock pulsated in her cunt. It swelled to twice its
normal size and suddenly it was jerking violently, filling her core with liquid
heat.

The monster's cum came out in
rapid bursts, coating her womb with sticky layers of seed that seeped back out
of her hole to splatter the cobblestones.

Her own orgasm was intense. The
muscles in her pelvis clamped around the alien penis like a vise, gripping it
in place as it inundated her with its spunk, milking the creature for all it
was worth. Her eyes rolled back up into her head, lost in a blaze of fireworks
that drove out all rational thought and reduced her to a writhing mass of
animal flesh bucking and moaning on the end of a prick.

When the creature was done breeding
her, it pulled away, setting her down gently on the stone floor. She lay in a
puddle of semen, shaking and shivering as the aftershocks of her orgasm worked
their way out of her body.

She was vaguely aware that
someone was picking her up and carrying her out of the room. She heard a roar
from the crowd, a cry of outrage. She leaned her head against the broad,
muscular chest, too drained, even, to open her eyes. As she sunk into his
embrace she smelled his familiar scent. The smell of blood and sweat and animal
musk. The smell of her king.

––––––––

W
hen she woke, it was dark. She
didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but it felt like a long time. She was
in her bed and could see a orange light flickering through the window. She
pushed off the blankets and set her feet on the floor. She almost fell trying
to stand up.

She stumbled across the room and
opened the shutter. The sound of combat rolled up from a distant street. The
great temple was on fire.

So, he hasn't won yet,
she thought, smiling grimly. The tenacity and courage of her people continued
to amaze her. They'd been outnumbered ten to one, each one of their foes larger
and stronger than her finest warriors. But what they lacked in strength, they
more than made up for in spirit. The orcs lacked discipline, and her people
knew every street, every hanging bridge, every tunnel.

A sound behind her made her
start.

Half-mouth was perched on his
chair, eyes gleaming, as cunning and hideous as  a troll.

"My secret admirer,"
she said, crossing her arm over her naked breasts. "Where is your
master?"

Half-mouth slipped from his
perch and stalked toward her, moving with a swagger. In the dim light, she
could see that his armor was ruined and his hairy skin glistened with fresh
blood.

"The king is...
preoccupied," he said.

She backed away, supporting
herself on a dresser. Her legs were still weak and her knees trembled.

He stepped in front of her,
moving nimbly, like a great cat. He was head and shoulders above her, as broad
across as a bull.

"Perhaps it is time for the
queen to have a new master," he said, running a blood-caked finger over
her shoulder.

She shivered, flinching backward
into the dresser, making her perfume jars rattle.

Half-mouth cupped her chin,
tilting her head. The tight muscles that bunched at his jaws, the scars that
crisscrossed his face, the cold, bone-chilling stare of his eyes bespoke of a
lifetime of violence, anger, and frustration.

"Is it hard being second
best?" she asked, reaching behind her for a vial.

He grabbed her by the throat and
lifted her from the floor.

She kicked her feet, grabbing
his wrist with one hand to reduce the strain on her neck, while her free hand
clutched the bottle.

"Kerlok failed to teach you
respect," he said. "I will not make the same mistake."

She fumbled with the vial,
unscrewing the top with her fingers. The
Urtolothia
collar kept his
fingers from crushing her throat, but the way he was holding her pressed the
metal band into her windpipe and was cutting off her air. She was blacking out.

Half-mouth opened his ruined
mouth and extended his tongue.

She felt the crystal stopper
fall to the floor and swung the vial in his face. Two thousand year old dragon
musk splashed across his eyes.

Half-mouth roared, dropping her,
and staggered back.

"You'll regret that, elvish
whore," he said, wiping his eyes.

She ran for the door but his
hand snapped out and grabbed her wrist. She felt herself being wrenched, her
arm twisting painfully as he flung her onto the bed.

His eyes were still watering,
but he could see well enough to corner her against the headboard. He crawled
toward her over the mattress, cheeks wet with tears.

"Time for a lesson,"
he hissed.

She clawed for his face, but he
was too fast and knocked her hand aside, grabbing her by the hair. He dragged
her forward and pushed her face-down on the mattress.

"Now you'll see how a real
orc fucks an elf."

She screamed, struggling.
Something hot and wet splattered over her neck and shoulders and suddenly he
was on top of her, crushing her with his weight. She braced herself for the
pain but it never came.

He lay still, a warm, stinking
mass on top of her. She tried to gasp for air but he was smothering her. She
felt something ooze over her neck and drip down to the bed.

And then he was rolling off of
her.

She looked up, confused, gasping
for air. Groma was kneeling beside her, a long, curved dagger gleaming with
dark blood clenched in her fist.

She looked over her shoulder at
Half-mouth's lifeless body, his half-lidded eyes staring up at the canopy. A
deep gash in his throat pumped blood into the sheets.

"What...?"

Groma wiped the gore from her
blade with the blankets. "He was no longer fit to serve the king,"
she said, climbing off the bed.

Quolondra scurried after her.
"Wait—"

Groma shoved her aside. "I
didn't do it for you," she said, pushing through the door and slamming it
shut behind her.

The queen looked at Half-mouth's
corpse. "Well, somebody's learned a lesson," she said. She rubbed the
collar, suddenly glad of its protection.

It wasn't until the silence
following her remark that she realized that the sounds of the combat had
ceased.

––––––––

H
alf an hour later, as dawn
began to lighten the sky, a pair of orcish soldiers entered the room and
wrapped Half-mouth's corpse in a sheet. They dragged it unceremoniously across
the floor out the door and the handmaids came in with fresh blankets.

"I hope you brought fresh
flowers," said Quolondra, pointing to a vase of roses shedding their
petals. "These are positively wilted."

One of the women growled at her
and spat on the floor. "The king wishes to bed you," she said.

"Yes, he's quite the
romantic," she said, smiling. "I hope I'm not under-dressed."
She fluffed her dress, biting her lower lip in mock apprehension.

The orcs shook their heads,
muttering in orcish, and left, shutting the door behind them.

"Not much for conversation,
are they?" she said aloud to herself. She sat on the edge of the bed,
feeling woozy. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten, and the thought
of being ravaged by the king so soon after Half-mouth's attack made her feel
more than a little queasy.

The king entered, shutting the
door behind him. He'd changed out of his armor, but he looked battered and
beaten, covered in fresh scars and bandages. The battle was clearly not going
as well as he'd hoped.

He walked around the bed and
stood in front of her, turning her head by the chin with his fingers.

"Did he hurt you?" His
voice was frank, indifferent, but she saw the twitch in his cheeks.

"No more than you, my
king."

Kerlok snorted, running his
fingers down her neck to the collar. They lingered there, as if irritated by
its presence.

Quolondra placed her hand on his
crotch, feeling the swollen mass of his cock through the leather. There was no
point delaying the inevitable.

She unlaced his breeches and
pulled them down, freeing his prick. She'd never really had an opportunity to
take a good look at it, and the tense, thick-veined organ was almost pretty in
the sunlight. It was the color of rich, dark earth and pulsed with life. She
felt herself growing damp and took the head in her mouth, savoring the steely
bitterness of his precum.

The king sighed, resting his
hands on her head as she pleased him. She ran her tongue over the cleft in his
crown, massaging his mast with her hands while her lips embraced his warmth.

She felt his body tensing and
his breathing become faster and more shallow. She cupped his balls with her
hand, feeling their warmth and weight, and continued to suckle him until she
felt them tighten in her palm.

He groaned and his cock
twitched, filling her mouth with spunk. She swallowed it down, trying not to
choke on the thick globs as he relieved himself of his pent up tension. It felt
warm sliding down, like strong liquor. When his balls were spent and her belly
felt full, she relaxed her grip, wiped her lips, and helped him to lie down on
the bed.

"What does the king
command?" she said, removing his garments.

He grabbed her by the wrist and
pulled her down, kissing her on the lips.

His actions surprised her, but
the strength of his arms, the warmth of his lips, and the innocence of his
unspoken need worked on her like a charm, melting her resistance.

She climbed on top of him,
seeking his tongue with her lips as she dug her fingers in his thick, coarse
hair.

She felt the points of his fangs
gently nibbling on her lips, smelled his heady musk, and rubbed her body over
his hard, hairy flesh.

How like an animal he is,
she thought,
as different from an elf as a sun is the moon.

He grabbed the collar of her
dress in both hands and ripped it, exposing her breasts and her hard nipples.
She let him peel the fabric from her in strips as she ground her pearl on his
sex. She could feel him swelling again, almost ripe for mounting.

He grabbed her by the buttocks
and dragged her forward, lifting her up and seating her on his face.

She gasped, grabbing the
headboard.

His tongue moved rapidly over
her sex, soaking up her juices as quickly as her body could produce them. It
was thick and warm and long and drew circles around her pearl, dipping
occasionally between her folds to seek out her heat.