The Orc King's Captive (3 page)

The orc growled. "What does
it matter?"

"It matters a great deal if
I have to keep looking at your ugly face. A little conversation will take my
mind off your drooling."

The orc surprised her by
snorting and grinning.

She expected him to say
something, but he didn't. "My name's Quolondra," she said, pushing
forward. "It means Flower of Spring."

"Fitting, since Kerlok's
plucked you."

"He's hardly the
first," she said. "And I doubt he'll be the last."

The orc gave her a cunning look.
"My brothers call me Half-mouth, but to Kerlok I will always be Wet
Dog."

"Why is that?"

"Because my fur is always
wet with the blood of my enemies."

"Have you tried
bathing?"

Half-mouth scowled. "Only
in blood."

Charming.

"How did you lose your
teeth?"

"I bit a rock troll."

Quolondra laughed in spite of
herself. She could picture it clearly. She'd dealt with rock trolls on more
than one occasion in her duties as the queen. The fact that the orc had lived
to tell the tale made her feel a grudging respect for him.

"So why aren't you in
charge, Half-mouth?" He certainly was a big enough lout, on par with the
king, and he had the scars to prove he knew his way around a battlefield.

Half-mouth laughed softly, a low
rumbling that sounded a little like a growl. "I see why Kerlok likes
you," he said. "Even after he makes you his bitch, you still act like
a queen, playing games with words and trying to move us like pawns." The
orc stood up and left the room, letting the door fall closed behind him.

Not half as dumb as he looks.
She felt a cold shiver pass over her.

––––––––

Q
uolondra spent the rest of the
day staring at the walls trying to ignore the ache in her shoulders and the
sounds of battle. For amusement, she tried to remember how she'd come to
acquire each perfume bottle on her dressing table, and tried to entice birds to
fly in through the windows. She was thirsty and needed to urinate, but she
doubted she'd be afforded either luxury any time soon. That was fine; she'd had
plenty of time to learn patience.

At dusk, Kerlok kicked open the
doors.

He was covered head to toe in
blood. Bright, rose-red elvish blood. Quolondra felt sick to her stomach and
turned away.

Two guards followed him into the
room and began undoing her shackles. Quolondra watched out of the corner of her
eye as the king began stripping off his armor.

The guards held her until he was
completely naked and then let go of her wrists. She felt the blood flow back
into her arms and rubbed them gratefully. Kerlok made a motion with his head
and they left the room, looking over their shoulders at her as they left.

Kerlok towered over her, his
muscular chest rising and falling rapidly. He was breathing hard, fresh from
the battlefield. She barely came up to his chest. She looked down, his cock was
already hard, thick with veins.

"Are you still killing my brothers
and sisters?"

Kerlok grabbed her by the
shoulder and spun her around. She felt the palm of his hand smack her between
the shoulder blades and she went down on the feather mattress, face first over
the foot of the bed.

She felt his rough hands spreading
her open, then Kerlok lined up the tip of his cock with her slit and forced it
in.

She cried, eyes watering from
the burn.

He pushed his cock in until his
pelvis pressed her backside, finding places inside of her that had never been
touched. She grunted. In all her hundreds of years she'd never experienced this
kind of stretching. It was painful, but instead of fear and rage, the sudden,
violent assault triggered an inexplicable explosion of excitement.

He gave her a couple of
peremptory thrusts, letting her body adjust to his girth, then began to pump
her rapidly.

She moaned but tried to make it
sound like a cry of reproach. It was sick and wrong for her to want this, to be
excited by the weight of his monstrous body bearing down on her, to revel in his
hard, sweaty flesh as he fucked her, but she could no more control her emotions
than she could the beast who inspired them.

He fucked her hard, releasing
his anger and frustration through his prick, forcing her to groan and whimper,
pain mingled with pleasure. The slap of his hips on her buttocks, the flogging
of her clit with his heavy, swinging balls, the deep penetration of his
thrusts, drove her wild with excitement. She bit the blankets, twisting them in
her knuckles, trying to hide her ecstasy from her attacker, but to no avail.

Her cunt seized up, gripping his
cock, and a massive orgasm swept her reservations aside like paper castles. She
bucked wildly, cumming hard all over his prick. Her response seemed to catch
him off-guard, and suddenly she felt his entire body go tense. His shaft
swelled, jerking roughly inside of her as the first load of spunk painted her
womb. He came again, filling her with flooding heat as he groaned and trembled.
The fierce pulsations triggered her again, making her cum a second time, only
seconds after the first.

She'd never experienced anything
so exciting... or so wrong.
He's likely to put a bastard in my belly
,
she thought, but the idea of being made fat with his child only excited her
more.
This is wrong. Sick and wrong,
she repeated over and over to
herself, as her body trembled with convulsions.
That I should let this
animal degrade me so, breeding me like a bitch in heat while he slaughters my
people. May the Gods punish me for my sins.

Kerlok leaned over her, shaking,
releasing several more loads inside of her. She felt it seeping back out of her
hole, coating her thighs with slime, running down the back of her knees.

When he was finally done, he
grunted and pulled out, wiping a trail of seed on her buttocks. He threw a
greasy robe over his shoulders and left without a word.

Quolondra lay where she was,
half-draped over the bed, her face in the blankets, her toes on the floor
propping her up over the footboard. Though she'd had two orgasms, she was still
tingling, hungry for more. She expected the guards to come for her, but the
doors remained shut. Perhaps they'd forgotten her, perhaps she should try to
escape...

Instead of getting up and
checking the doors, she ran her fingers through the sticky mess in her cunt,
feeling herself. She was tender, but not injured, but there was so much cream
it would be a miracle if she didn't get pregnant.

Her fingers traced a circle
around her sensitive pearl. She tried to pretend that she wasn't doing what she
knew she was doing: fingering herself and thinking about Kerlok. He was just so
different from every other man she'd ever met; a powerful, fearless, hairy
creature that cared only about his own pleasure, indifferent to her feelings,
an insensitive brute that would fuck her whenever, wherever, and however he
pleased. He wasn't a simpering fool afraid to take what he wanted. He was a
king and her equal. More than her equal.

She replayed their first meeting
in the throne room, remembering how he'd forced her to her knees, how she'd done
everything she could to refuse him, how he'd even made her vomit. But this
time, in her imagination, there was no vomit. This time, she refused him less
stridently, she tried harder to please him—and this time, when he came in
her mouth, she came too, and swallowed it all down.

She still had her fingers inside
of her when the guards came for her.

––––––––

A
fterward, she felt ashamed of
herself. She knew it was wrong to take pleasure in her predicament. She'd been
lucky so far. She knew rationally that Kerlok was not some fantasy lover, but a
brutal killer using her for his pleasure. When she really thought about it, it
made her afraid. He had no interest in her beyond her value to him as a
hostage, and as a place to spill his seed. Dark thoughts of her future, of
being cast aside after the fall of Hylandryl, of falling prey to Half-mouth's
amusement, led her down a torturous path into dreaming.

Hours later, she was startled
awake.

The room was dark, but she knew
she wasn't alone. Her skin prickled. She could smell him.

As her eyes adjusted, Kerlok's
shape took form, a black silhouette against the dim, moonless night sky visible
through the window. She could tell by the faint curve of light outlining his
massive shoulders and arms and curling around his narrow waist that he was
naked.

Her heart began to beat rapidly
and, in spite of her earlier musings, she pulled away, suddenly frightened. The
footboards pressed into her back and her arms hung limply at her sides, asleep
in their shackles. She couldn't move so much as an inch.

He took two steps forward,
planting his feet on either side of her naked thighs. His sex dangled over her,
his skin redolent with animal musk. He grabbed her by the hair and tilted her
head, pressing the tip of his cock against her lips, smearing them with his
slick, salty arousal.

She turned her head, whimpering
through tightly clenched teeth.

The slap burned her cheek,
bringing tears to her eyes. He grabbed her by the jaw and turned her face to
his. His eyes glinted like steel in the darkness.

"I'm not in the mood."
His voice was low, with a razor's edge.

He forced open her mouth and
pushed it in, stretching her lips with his girth. His skin tasted like charred
meat and slid wetly over her tongue. She swallowed, preparing to gag, but he held
it shy of her throat.

He started rocking his hips,
moving it in and out of her mouth, savoring the feel of her warm, moist lips.

She tried not to taste him,
tried to pretend that it wasn't happening, but the feel of his hard cock in her
mouth, the scent of his skin, the darkness, and her helplessness all
contributed to a growing sense of excitement. She knew he would smell her
arousal, and hated him for it.

He gradually forced himself
deeper, prodding her throat almost delicately, as if to test the waters and
make sure there would be no repeats of the previous day. She swallowed his
crown, feeling it stretch her gullet as it moved in and out of her. She'd had
time to prepare herself, and managed to fight back her urge to vomit.

He held her head in both hands
as he took advantage of her mouth, his thighs trembling from the effort of
crouching at an awkward angle at the foot of the bed. She could hear his
breathing getting more rapid, the gusts of warm air caressing her forehead as
he worked himself to a pitch of excitement.

She felt his cock twitch in her
throat, felt it throb powerfully, then suddenly he was pulling out and she felt
hot streams of cum painting her face. She screwed her eyes shut and clamped her
lips, but not before taking a taste of his bitter seed. It tasted more like
metal than anything, an acrid, salty substance with a wild, musky undercurrent.
A warrior's seed.

It ran down her face in rivers,
dripping onto her breasts like warm rain, and slid down her belly. She recoiled
in horror as it trickled over her loins and seeped between her folds. She felt
violated and ashamed and excited all at the same time and struggled in her
chains, making them rattle.

He crawled over top of her into
her bed and left her there, miserable, filthy, and frustrated. Less than a
quarter of an hour later, not long after his seed had cooled on her body,
leaving her chilled, he began to snore.

––––––––

S
he woke with a start. Someone
had doused her with cold water.

"Wake up."

The voice was unfamiliar, harsh
and contemptuous. She shivered, blinking the water out of her eyes, and looked
up, trying to peer through the sunlight. A particularly hideous female stood
over her, lower fangs biting up over her thin upper lip. Her dark skin was
scarred and tattooed, and the long coils of her hair hung in bunches tied with
leather thongs. She was wearing a hide skirt and a leather vest laced tight
against her breasts.

"You're filthy," she
said, motioning to a guard. "The king won't want to bed you like
this."

"Your king would bed a dead
sow," said Quolondra as the guard unlocked her shackles.

The woman kicked her in the
stomach.

Quolondra fell forward,
retching. She hadn't eaten in over a day and only a trail of spittle drooled
out.

"Next time you insult the
king, Groma won't be so gentle."

The guard seized her arm and
pulled her to her feet. Two more of the orcish women came forward to relieve
him, each grabbing her by an armpit. Her arms, which had been blissfully numb,
began to burn and tingle as the feeling returned.

The three females dragged her
out a side door, down a long flight of stairs, and out to her private bath, a
grassy terrace overlooking a flower garden. The sun was shining bright
overhead, almost blinding her as they pushed her down into the cold pool. Smoke
billowed over the park in the distance where the orcs were no doubt burning
down her people's sacred trees.

The women scrubbed her roughly,
rinsing under the collar with palmfuls of water. Quolondra considered making a
break for the railing. If she was lucky she might land in a flowerbed and avoid
breaking a limb. A closer look at her handmaidens made her realize how foolish
her plan was. These toned, muscular women weren't servants, but warriors. Any
one of them could skin her alive with her teeth.

They threw a blanket over her
when they were done, gave her a moment to relieve herself in the latrine, and
led her back to her room. A platter of food had been left on a table by the
bed, a hank of greasy, undercooked meat and a half-loaf of dark bread.

She sat on the edge of the bed,
looking at the food warily. Her stomach growled, but the fare was less than
appealing.