The Orc King's Captive (4 page)

"Eat," ordered the one
who called herself Groma. "Be grateful we're not feeding you your own
kin."

There were no utensils, so
Quolondra had to pick the meat up with her fingers. She bit off a chunk. Pork,
she hoped.

"How goes the
slaughter?" she asked, choking down the food.

"Victory is
inevitable," said the orcish woman, throwing herself down in a chair. She
sat like a man, with her legs spread carelessly.

"Not as well as you'd hoped
then," said the queen, breaking off a crust of bread.

"You make a lot of jokes
for a slave."

"A prisoner. A temporary
one."

The orc laughed. "You're a
fool if you think any other future awaits you. Kerlok will bed you until he
tires of you and then he will throw you away. His warriors will not be so
gentle."

"So I've heard."

"Especially Half-mouth. He
likes to hear his bed-mates scream."

"I take it you're speaking
from personal experience."

"Shut up. I have no
interest in talking to elvish whores."

Quolondra smiled. "Tell me:
Are you jealous? That the king is fucking me and not you?"

Groma sprang to her feet and
slapped Quolondra across the face.

The queen crumpled on the bed,
lines of fire burning her skin. She could feel blood running down her jaw,
warming her neck.
The bitch has claws.

She felt the mattress sink
around her. The orc woman was crouching over her, snarling. She smelled like
spiced ale and smoke. "Perhaps when the king is done with you, I'll take
you for myself. I'd love to draw pictures on your skin," she said,
brandishing long, sharp nails in Quolondra's face.

"Get off her, you stupid
sow." It was one of the guards. Rough hands grabbed Groma by the arms and
pulled her away. "The king will punish you for this."

"I think she'd like
that," said Quolondra, sitting up and dabbing her bleeding cheek with the
towel.

The orc woman roared but the
guards pushed her through the door. The other women followed, baring their
teeth and growling.

"Do come back soon,"
said the queen. "I so enjoyed your visit."

The doors clicked shut and the
two guards leaned back against them, watching her.

Quolondra waved toward the plate
of food. "Hungry? I'm afraid I've lost my appetite."

––––––––

T
hat night, they dragged
Quolondra in chains to the terrace overlooking the Lyryl, the cascading rapids
that ran through the heart of Hylandryl. The river splashed and hissed below as
always, but she knew that its once clear waters were now tainted with blood.
The sky was clear, a deep blue deepening into dusk, a red smear over the
mountains to the west where the sun bled into the horizon. She inhaled deeply,
trying to take advantage of the fresh air, but it smelled of smoke and orcs and
carnage. A crow flew overhead.

The guards removed her shackles
and left her standing naked in the middle of a circle of orcs; no doubt
Kerlok's favored generals and warriors, invited to an evening's entertainment.
They ogled her pale form with the ravenous hunger of starving wolves. She
glanced at the railing, but knew the guards would catch her before she made the
leap.

Kerlok was sitting on her
throne, with a good view of both the terrace and the river. She couldn't
imagine how much work it had been to rip the throne from its foundations and
move it outside. It was made of solid white marble inlaid with gold and must
have weighed several tons. A task to keep his ogres occupied, she presumed.

The orcs were drinking her wine
by the barrel, wrapping their brutish lips around ceremonial cups decorated
with the graceful figures of her ancestors. The roisterous revelry suddenly
erupted into a cacophonous din and she turned in time to see the wide
double-doors to the palace swinging open.

A pair of orcs were leading an
ogre, a monster twice the height of a tall man with thick bones and rippling,
corded muscles. His skin was a leathery greenish-gray, shoulders, back, and
elbows pebbled with hard, bony ridges. His small dim eyes gazed balefully over
the crowd until the twitching of his stub nose alerted Quolondra to the fact
that he'd become aware of her presence. Like her, he was naked; his massive
appendage dangled between his hairless thighs like the trunk of a small tree.

Quolondra looked at Kerlok,
refusing to accept that he intended to carry through with his farce.
Surely
he doesn't expect me to...

Kerlok met her look with a
savage grin. The wine made his teeth look bloody.

The ogre advanced on her,
shaking the terrace.

She backed away but rough,
orcish hands thrust her back into the ring. Cheers and hoots accompanied her
stagger as she tried to right herself. She hadn't eaten in over a day, and her
shock and terror made her feel weak and faint.

The ogre snatched her before she
fell, lifting her up like a doll. His hands were huge, the palms so large she
could have used one for a chair. His firm grip forced the air from her lungs,
but she could tell by the way he held her that the creature was being extremely
careful. An ogre could crush limestone in his bare hands; if he'd wanted to, he
would have broken her ribs like dry twigs.

The creature brought her to his
face, smiling dully. He extended his tongue, and left a wet, oozing trail from
her breasts to her forehead.

His saliva made her skin crawl,
but it didn't have the terrible odor she would have expected. In fact, the
creature smelled more like moss and stone than a flesh-and-blood animal.

She felt a hard, slick mass
pushing up between her thighs, forcing her legs apart. She looked down in
surprise: it was his cock. She squirmed and squealed, pulling at his fingers.
The creature held on, indifferent to her struggles, his mouth going slack, his
blank eyes glazing over.

She exhausted herself with her
efforts to free herself until she realized that he wasn't hurting her. He
wasn't trying to force his monstrous member inside of her, but was merely
rubbing her sex over the tip. It was like riding a tree branch: a thick, warm
branch that quivered between her thighs.

The feeling of his massive cock
sliding wetly between her thighs against her clit began to have an effect on
her. To her horror, she began feeling a warmth low in her belly, and her own
answering wetness. Her breathing, though strained, got deeper, and her eyelids
began to droop.

She made another effort to free
herself, this time to escape her shame and embarrassment, but her efforts were futile.
The ogre was drifting in his own excitement and his hands might as well have
been made of stone.

As her pleasure increased, she
began to lose awareness of the group surrounding them She felt herself falling
into the big dark eyes of the beast holding her, lulled by their peaceful,
unfixed stare. The slick crown of his prick rolled back and forth along the
length of her slit, gently stroking her pearl as he  rocked her to and fro.

A little moan escaped her and
she saw the creature smile. She felt herself sinking into a warm, pleasant
tingle. The ogre's breathing was growing stronger, his gigantic chest rising
and falling in slow, satisfied waves.

Her excitement mounted as she
began to recognize the strangely erotic tension between them, the attraction of
a young woman to a kind, protective giant, who could as easily cradle her as
kill her, and suddenly she felt herself cumming, her thighs squeezing around
his gargantuan cock as she gyrated her hips.

She let her head sink, riding
the waves of her pleasure as they carried her away from fear, disgust, and
resentment. Her orgasm was strangely pure and chaste, like the first time she'd
let a man stroke her with his fingers. It made no sense at all, the way this
lumbering brute had pleased her, and it made her feel foolish and dirty, but
she had little control over how the creature made her feel.

The ogre set her down gently,
holding her steady until her trembling legs found their strength and then let
her go. She steadied herself on his thigh and her eyes traced the length of his
dangling cock, a heavy shaft of throbbing flesh, wet with her release.

She looked over at Kerlok. Like
the others, he was mocking her with lewd gestures, jeering her with his
friends, and sloshing wine over his blood-spattered jerkin.

She patted the ogre on the thigh
and motioned for him to sit down. She didn't know if ogres had a language of
their own, but if they did, she didn't speak it.

The creature complied, crouching
down on his knees and resting on the balls of his feet. Even seated like this,
he towered over her.

With one last look at the orcish
king, she set her jaw and took the ogre's cock in her hands.

It was as big around as her
thigh, and longer by far, a rigid, meaty mass with a web of thick veins that
throbbed with dark blood. The skin was silky smooth, like polished stone. His
nuts hung in a sack like a pair of turnips.

She began caressing him with
both hands, running her soft fingers over the expanse of his manhood. His cock
twitched, as energetic as a playful dog.

The raucous merriment of the
orcs became more subdued, as if her hands strummed a harp and not an ogre's
prick. They became captivated with her, with her eagerness to please a beast
that they'd chosen specifically to terrify.

She pressed her body up against
the ogre's, cradling his cock with her breasts as she stood between his knees.
She wrapped her arms around his shaft, holding him tight as she rose and fell.
She let his crown slide up her neck to her jaw, rubbing her chin over the tip
as she stroked him, stopping every now and then to lick and caress the fleshy
cleft on the underside of his head.

His precum tasted like salty
chalk and made her face tingle as it cooled. Her breasts and arms were coated
in the stuff, and made her warm embrace as slick as a tight hole.

The monster was groaning now, a
soft, rumbling moan like distant thunder in the mountains. His chest was
pumping like a bellows, rustling her hair with his mossy breath, and the
muscular planes of his abdomen trembled.

She could feel him growing harder,
pulsing against her body with a rapid beat as he drew closer to release.

She cast her eyes once again to
the king and saw that he was glowering. She gave him a disdainful sneer and
then turned back to her lover.

"Cum for me," she
said, arching her back and tightening her embrace as she stroked him up and
down with her cleavage. "Show the Queen of the Elves what it means to be
showered in ogre seed."

She had no idea if he could
understand her words, but her sultry voice had its intended effect. She felt
him throb violently, jerking her against his belly as his cum exploded.

A sticky glob of hot semen
rolled up the side of her face, soaking her hair. A second geyser burst on the
underside of her chin, falling like hot wax on her breasts.

The suddenness and violence of
his ejaculation caught her off-guard and she pulled away, only to feel a third
blow on her face. Salty spunk filled her nostrils and mouth, making her choke
and gag, blinding her. She staggered back and took a fourth blow to the chest.
The force of his cum knocked her off her feet and she fell on her backside,
catching herself with her hands.

He continued to cum, laying down
thick ropes of semen on her belly and thighs until her entire body was coated
from head to toe. She'd never imagined that a creature could have so much cum
inside of them and almost regretted her decision. She was sitting in a pool of
ogre seed; if she should get pregnant, what sort of creature would burst
forth...

A splash of warm liquid drenched
her. It washed the cum from her eyes, but stung her just as badly. The smell
and taste told her at once that she'd been doused with wine. A barrel full.

She gasped, sputtering, and
looked up. Kerlok was standing over her, seething, holding a barrel. He tossed
it aside with an echoing thump and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her
painfully to her feet.

She yelped, scrambling to find a
foothold on the slimy cobbles.

The ogre rose up with a roar,
bearing down on the king, but Kerlok waved his hand dismissively and a
half-dozen orcs prodded the ogre away with long pikes.

Kerlok dragged her through the
open doors into the palace.

She held onto his arm, trying to
keep him from tearing out her hair as her feet slipped over the marble floors
looking for purchase.

He pulled her up the stairs and
kicked open the doors to her bedroom, shouldering his way past the guards. She
felt herself being flung onto the bed and rolled over, prepared to defend
herself. He caught her wrists and forced her down, pinning her with his weight.

"Does it amuse you to taunt
me, wench?"

She spat in his face, struggling
to free herself.

He growled and squeezed his
fists, bruising her wrists.

"You're hurting me!"
she said, wincing.

"I'll do whatever I want to
you," he said, forcing her hands up over her head. "If you humiliate
me like that again I'll cut your throat and feed you to the trolls."

She clamped her mouth shut,
cutting off her retort. She wanted to remind him that it was his idea to have
her raped by an ogre but his pale eyes glimmered dangerously. She was on a
knife's edge, and the slightest misstep would be her last.

He held her wrists with one hand
and reached down to unlace his breeches. His jaw muscles bunched violently and
his lip curled over his fangs with disconcerting tension. It was almost as
if...

He's jealous!

The thought struck her like
lightning. He wasn't humiliated by her unwillingness to be terrified—by her
public ridicule of his threat—but by the attention that she'd lavished on
the ogre.