The Orc King's Captive (5 page)

She felt the head of his prick
sliding over her slit.

"You're wet," he said,
snarling.

"It's ogre cum." And
some of it was.

He forced the thick length of
his cock inside of her, burying it deeply. She whimpered, feeling the burn as
it stretched, and concealing her pleasure.

"I will fuck the
disobedience out of you," he said, pulling back and ramming her hard.

She grunted and then bit her
lower lip.

He thrust into her again, making
her groan.

"Look at me!" he
ordered, shaking her.

She opened her eyes. His bestial
face terrified her, like the snapping jaws of a wolf, but it didn't stop her
from getting wetter.

"This is the face I want
you to see when you cum," he said, fucking her with hard, heavy strokes.

She moaned. He didn't realize
how much she wanted it, how his words made her hungry for the brutal pleasures
of his cock. He thought he was cowing her, terrorizing her with his body, but
she would have sunk on her knees before him to beg for such pleasure.

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.

––––––––

S
he 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.

––––––––

T
he 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.

––––––––

I
n 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.