He thrust into her, making the thousand year old bed creak in its fittings. She pretended to fight him, beat his back with her hands as his cock whipped her like a frothing horse into an abyss of pure ecstasy. She tried to stifle her cries but couldn't, and out of annoyance he covered her mouth with his hand and pushed her head down into the feather mattress.
She came hard, convulsing under his heavy, muscular frame, hips bucking against him as her cunt spasmed with contractions. She gripped him so hard with her pelvic muscles that she was afraid she would bruise him.
His body responded, his cock going rigid as steel as it thumped in her loins. She felt it swelling and pulsating, twitching inside her like a snake as her belly filled with his warm, wet seed. He came hard and violently, almost howling as his muscles tightened and he unleashed a fresh wave of semen.
Several more bursts followed as their orgasms rolled over them like a storm tide, tossing them like planks on a sea of pleasure. When the last of his seed trickled out of him, he collapsed on top of her, smothering her with his weight.
She clung to him, digging her nails into his back, savoring the fullness he gave her, giving shameful thanks to the gods that they'd seen fit to give her such a lover.
After a time, he pulled out, dislodging a trail of semen. His jerkin was covered in wine and ogre cum, but he seemed indifferent to the state of his attire and pulled up his breeches.
He turned and left without a word.
She didn't know when he'd come back. She'd fallen asleep, chained once again to the footboard, and woke in the middle of the night to his snoring.
The moon was a sliver, barely more than a scratch of white ink on the starry sky. It was cool, and her skin was covered with goosebumps. Her nipples were hard and dark in the moonlight. Her throat felt raw, and she realized she hadn't had anything to drink in over half a day.
Her nose wrinkled. She was growing used to Kerlok's odor, an angry, sweaty stink that smelled like blood and muscle, but there was another odor in the room. Something slightly sweeter, and not in a good way. She turned.
Half-mouth was watching her from the corner, perched on her grandmother's chair like a cat, his eyes gleaming like wet spots in the craggy shadows of his face.
"You're really quite smitten, aren't you?" she said, stretching her legs.
The orc sat as still as a gargoyle, watching her without responding.
Her legs had fallen asleep— her arms were always asleep—and tingled angrily as the blood flowed into them. She wriggled her toes, trying to feel them. Pale moonlight fell across her thighs, making them glow in the darkness.
"Not talking to me anymore? A shame. Do me a kindness and fetch me a drink. I'm parched."
The orc dropped his legs from the chair and stood up, reaching for the silver jug they kept tauntingly out of reach. He tugged at his belt, and did something with his hands, but it was too dark to see what he was doing in the shadows. She heard a trickle of water bouncing off metal, followed by a steady stream. The room filled with the aroma of urine.
Quolondra swallowed, trying not to retch. He wouldn't dare...
He knelt down beside her, holding the steaming jug under her nose. His one good fang glinted in the darkness. He reached down and touched her knee with his fingers, sliding them up her thigh to her pelvis.
"I'll give you a choice," he whispered, smiling. "A warm drink, or a cock in your elvish cunt." He stuck his fingers between her thighs, digging in her folds for her soft, wet hole.
"I'll give you a choice," she said, clenching her teeth. "A fresh cup of water or I'll scream and watch your master flay you."
He pushed the jug against her lips, spilling piss over her chin. She groaned through clamped lips, afraid to scream for fear of swallowing a mouthful.
A second later, Half-mouth was skidding across the floor, knocking over the chair and banging into the wall. The jug rolled around in a circle, spilling orc piss everywhere.
Kerlok grunted, making the bed creak as he climbed back into bed. It took Quolondra a moment to realize what had happened: he'd woken up long enough to kick his servant and go back to sleep.
Half-mouth got up, limping, and slipped through the door, leaving the queen alone with the king.
She looked down at the wet streaks of orc piss that spattered her breasts, wrinkling her nose.
"They're going to wonder what we do at night," she said to no one in particular. The king was snoring by the time she'd finished speaking.
The king fucked her again in the morning, throwing her face-down in the bed and taking her from behind. His cock felt so good pumping her tight channel that she wouldn't have been able to conceal her excitement even if she'd wanted to. He made her cum three times before filling her with his seed. He'd lain on top of her for a long time, still hard inside of her, not speaking, smelling her hair. Then he'd pulled out and left without saying a word.
The queen spent the rest of the day brooding about how much she was beginning to enjoy—and anticipate—his visits. It did not please her to think about.
Her handmaids acted strangely when they helped her bath. Groma, the angry one who had threatened to turn her skin into parchment, didn't show up—for which the queen offered a silent prayer of thanks—but the other two were, if anything, even more taciturn. They refused to respond to anything she said.
Quolondra fell silent herself after a time, fatigued by her own efforts to appear invulnerable and caustic. The strain of her captivity was beginning to wear on her, though it was her spiritual decay that worried her, not the physical abuse.
After a long silence, one of the orc women finally spoke.
"You're pregnant," she said.
Quolondra woke from her reverie with a start.
"What? No, I'm not," she said. She heard the defensiveness in her own voice and cringed.
The orc woman wrinkled her nose and then lowered her eyes, turning away with a shrug.
The queen put her hand over her belly, feeling the flat, smooth planes of her abdomen. She didn't feel any different. Did she?
They took her back to her room and left her alone with a platter of greasy meat, boiled turnip, and watered wine. After she'd eaten, she wandered around her room, looking at her old things as if they were a stranger's. She put on a gown and stood in front of her mirror. The fabric was as sheer as a spider's web. She hadn't worn it in hundreds of years, for some distant lover at some distant time, and yet now... Had she changed so much in a couple of days?
She looked out the windows, imagining how she might escape, but made no effort to free herself. The balcony doors were locked, and she'd almost certainly fall to her death if she tried to escape through a window. There might have been some way to manage it, but some force held her back, clouding her thinking. She pulled at the collar, blaming its magic-neutralizing effects for her apathy, but a lingering doubt made her wonder if the problem didn't lie elsewhere.
She placed her hand over her belly, trying to will herself to know whether or not some bestial baby lurked within. Her thoughts began to wander, descending strange stairwells into chambers of hot, unseemly desire.
She began thinking of Kerlok, imagining what kind of future they could have together. She knew it was pointless; if he didn't kill her, or have one of his minions do it, she'd have to kill him, wouldn't she, if somehow her people managed to triumph and free her? She pictured him in chains in the dungeon, but the thought of his hard, muscular torso and bold, fearless eyes proved to be more distraction than she could bear. She could feel his strong hands holding her down, his warm weight pinning her...
Her fingers found her pearl, her folds already slick with desire. She laid back in the bed and fucked herself with her fingers, imagining they were the king's cock as she brought herself to climax. She wished he'd walk in, find her with her legs spread, ready and willing to submit to him, but the doors remained closed and after her third orgasm she drifted off to sleep, even more frustrated than before.
In the evening,
the guards came for her. They chained her wrists behind her back and led her through the palace.
The halls were filled with orcs, ogres, and other creatures, many of them bloody and bandaged, helms cracked, mail ripped where elvish swords had left their mark, weapons nicked and broken. The beasts cheered and hooted as she passed, leering at the soft curves and pale skin revealed by her gossamer gown.
They dragged her past the throngs of hungry soldiers down the broad spiral staircase leading to the dungeon.
The dungeon was burrowed into the side of the mountain, graceful stone arches overgrown with the roots of ancient yew trees that carpeted the forest floor at the base of the palace. Compared to most, the corridors and cells of the dungeon were airy and clean, the stones swept, the bars on the doors straight and true, the high, tiny windows providing a modicum of fresh air and sunlight; but the basic decency of the elven justice system did little to comfort the queen. Something was up, and she was certain she wasn't going to like it.
They led her to a large circular chamber filled with orcs. The air stank of sweat and blood and orc dander and the jeers, cries, and laughter were almost deafening. Behind the orcs, the wall was pierced with stone arches sealed with iron bars leading to prison cells. It was like being herded into an arena.
Filthy hands grabbed at her dress as she passed, twisting and tearing it before her guards could bat them away. As they groped her, her heart thudded in her chest and a cold knot of terror twisted in her stomach. Quolondra was well and truly frightened.
They walked her to the center of the room and attached a long chain to her collar. Quolondra pulled at the chain instinctively and saw that the other end was fixed to a loop embedded in the stone floor.
At the edge of the ring, leaning sluggishly in his throne, sat Kerlok, surrounded by his generals and elite guard. Quolondra tried to catch his eye but his face was a frozen mask of bestial indifference. She pulled at the chain. If she extended it to its full length, she could have almost reached out and touched him.
Almost.
The queen felt a shiver pass through her. Perhaps the king had finally grown tired of her. Perhaps what she'd been summoned for was not another attempt to at humiliation, but an execution.
The sound of grating metal caught her attention, and she turned to look behind her. The orcs had moved aside to make room in front of one of the cells. An ogre held open the heavy cell door and a creature crept forth.
Quolondra stepped back, knuckles whitening around the chain. An ogre's one thing, but this...
The beast shuffled forward, a mass of writhing tentacles circling a puckered maw. The narlug was a bottom feeder, a vile, cave-dwelling monster that paralyzed its prey, feeding on their terror. Though repellent, they were highly intelligent, and enjoyed stalking and toying with their victims.
Quolondra had heard of them— they were a common nuisance among the dwarves—but she had never seen one in the flesh. The glistening, chalky skin was almost translucent, a rubbery coating over a mass of powerful muscles. It had a long, worm-like body a dozen paces in length, carried on a half-dozen legs with long toes.
She circled around the monster, pulling the chain taut, trying to get as far away from it as she could. The beast tracked her movements, tentacles feeling the air like antenna, and followed her languidly, relishing its imminent feast.
The queen watched in horror as it drew nearer, pulling on her chain as if she could free herself. She looked at Kerlok, beseeching him with her eyes for mercy, but a strange sullenness darkened his features, as if he were not enjoying the entertainment as much as he'd hoped.
The creature lunged and she darted aside, slipping between its grasping tentacles.
It lunged again and once again she dodged, avoiding its loathsome appendages.
All but one.
The last one caught her ankle and pulled her feet out from under her.
She hit the floor hard, breaking her fall with her hands. She felt herself being dragged back by a powerful force, and the next thing she knew long, slippery trunks were coiling about her limbs.
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.
When 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.
The Orc King's Captive Page 4