Sold to the Orc

A Steamy Monster Romance Novella

Tara Phillips

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Books by this Author

About the Author

Preface

Sold to the Orc is a hot and steamy 18k monster romance novella with themes of BDSM with a dominant orc lover. It is intended for mature 18+ readers.

Chapter One

“Cyna!” my sister clenches through gritted teeth. “Get away from the door, before the orcs spot you.”

I press a finger to my lips and shush her with a stern look, hesitant to make any additional noise that might alert our father or the small band of raiding orcs to our presence. They’ve stopped at our tavern for refreshments and bartering. Blood stained sacks filled with either bounties or treasure sit at their mud-smeared boots.

Yet I barely spare it all a glance. My gaze is stuck, instead, on the orcs themselves--tall, imposing, rugged--as they sit, drinking ale and conversing with my father. What the conversation is about I can only guess. The orcs pass through our little village sometimes, but they rarely stay. Their presence alone is enough to make both the villagers and our livestock tense. They’re tall, taller than the tallest man I’ve ever seen. Their skin ranges from the pale yellow-green color of tender spring grass, to the deep, verdant shade of green that reminds me of things that grow in the dark recesses of the forest. Their tusks are huge, and white, and glinting and the biggest of them has silver caps on his teeth. Their weapons, monstrously large battle axes and hammers and broad swords, sit propped at their feet or rest on the table.

Their conversation is impossible to follow from this distance. I can only press either my ear or my eye to the open knot in the kitchen door where a hole has been eaten away by time and insects. This time I choose to listen. My ear presses against the small opening in the wood as I strain.

“They’ve been stealing women from all of the villages,” my sister whispers, annoying me since I’m trying to listen at this moment and it’s impossible to hear their hushed conversation over both my sister’s ramblings and the din of the tavern. Our usual patrons are dining and drinking and making a ruckus.

“Shh!” I urge her.

The door swings open and I fall, sprawling onto the floor with Hildie behind me as we tumble back. Our father looks down at us with disapproval and something dark on his face. He’s holding a small but heavy looking bag in his hands, which he tucks into the front of his tunic as he leans down and grabs me by my wrist and hauls me up. I’m expecting a slap, or worse, a cuff against the side of my head, but he only pulls me into the tavern instead. I stumble behind him, my feet tripping in the skirts of my dress as my father drags me towards the table full or marauding orcs. He sets a heavy hand at my back as I stand there, shocked and confused.

“Here, now go,” my father spits at them.

My gaze is stuck on the table filled with a half dozen orc warriors. They study me, even as I look at them. Captivated. Afraid. They’re even larger in person. What I’d thought looked like a taller than average man from the safety and comforts of my kitchen is really more of a small monster. The orc leader is huge. Muscled. Scarred from battle with a jagged line of pale green skin, puckered and warped, that twists down his brow and cheek as if something with large, sharp talons tried to pluck out his eye and failed. I wonder what happened to the poor beast that attacked such a monster and likely didn’t survive the battle. Their leader, if his extra ornamentations can be considered a status marker, frowns.

“We don’t fuck children,” he says, his voice a deep rumble that rolls through my body and shivers along my bones. My eyes widen as my mind finally registers his statement.

“She’s full grown, I assure you,” my father says, his grasp on my wrist tightening until my skin burns when he wrenches it. “Turned twenty last month.”

“Papa?” I ask him, my voice shaking as fear pricks up my back and sets the hairs on my nape alight. I glance about the tavern, but nobody seems poised to intervene on my behalf. My mother and Hildie watch with wide, scared eyes from the safety of the kitchen door frame. The rest of my siblings cower behind my mother’s skirts.

“Do you want her, or not?” my father asks with a mean edge to his voice.

The leader levels my father with an unimpressed, frightening scowl before grunting and looking at one of the smaller, paler orcs.

“Yes,” the younger one answers immediately.

I’m thrust forward, propelled by the hand in my back, and I’m tripping. Falling as my feet tangle in my skirts and drag me down. Except that strong arms wrap around my waist and haul me up, pressing me tightly against a well-muscled chest. My face presses against his torso and I inhale on reflex, trying to get air. Sweat, musk, and the smell of fur and horse, but underneath it all there’s the scent of rich Earth. Fertile loam and dark corners where life returns to the soil to nurture new growth. The hand wrapped around my back shifts until the orc is cupping my backside. I can feel the heat of his skin even through my skirts as he palms my buttocks. My face heats, red and hot in a deep blush. No man has ever touched me there before. A stable boy tried once until my father beat his face bloody and dismissed him without a reference. I never saw the sweet, blond youth again.

“Papa, what have you done?” I ask, my voice trembling as my hands shake.

I press them against the chest in front of me and try to lever myself up, disentangle myself from my skirts and the orc who’s trapped me. But it’s useless. I’m caught. His grip on my butt tightens as the orc presses me against him where he sits, and cages me against his body. I’m forced to straddle his large, muscled thigh where he sits on the bench, or risk falling into his lap. Preferring to stay vertical I straddle him. My skirts bunch on top of his leg as he hikes me towards him, his arms a cage around me.

“They’re paid your bride price,” my father answers. “Your theirs, now.”

I blink and crane my head to glance at my father. His face is stern and his expression is clouded. If there’s a hint of regret or sadness in his eyes then I can’t see it. I swallow around the lump in my throat as my new reality settles on my shoulders like a heavy mantle.

“Y… you’re selling me to these orcs?” I ask.

My father’s eyes grow cold and hard as his mouth presses into a firm, flat line. “You had to get married someday,” he says.

“To a man! A human man,” I add for clarification. Not that I feel that this is something I should have to clarify.

The orc stands and since I’m pressed to him I go with him. My feet dangle, nowhere near the ground, as he presses me to his chest and holds me like a child holds a doll. My fingers scrabble to find purchase, but there’s little on his chest in the way of clothing. No shirt, or tunic. Just leather straps that crisscross and buckle in different places and then a pair of leather pants. A series of metal studs and sharp looking knives decorate his straps and belt at odd intervals. A warrior’s array of weapons. Lethal. As dangerous as him.

“It’s done?” the orc leader asks. “We have a deal?”

Craning my head I watch my father nod. The orcs all stand, their figures imposing and attention grabbing. The whole tavern hushes and watches. Waiting. To see what these monsters will do now that they have what they came here for.

“Human men of Beypool,” the leader thunders. His voice booms around the busy tavern as patrons hush and turn to watch and listen.

“My son Atul marries this woman. Here. Now. Let none of you come and seek her, or face my axe if you dare try to take back what we’ve bought and paid good coin for today,” he announces as he picks up his double edged axe and swings it up onto his shoulder.

The orcs all stand and gather their weapons and war trophies. My orc, Atul, hoists me up so that my bottom is perched on his large arm like I’m sitting on a seat. My arms go around his neck as I seek to catch my balance. Our faces press against one another and I notice that his eyes are a warm shade of brown edged with a golden, honey colored ring around his pupil. A pair of white tusks extend from his lower lip, but unlike the leader Atul’s teeth have no decoration. Only his hair, long, brown, braided back hair is decorated with bits of silver metal and bone.

“Y… you can’t do this,” I tell him, ignoring the shaking in my voice as I pretend to be brave. It’s harder than it looks when one is staring an orc right in the face.

“And yet I did,” he replies, his voice deep, yet soft. His mouth ticks up at the corner as he grins, seemingly amused.

The floorboards squeak underneath us as the orcs make their way towards the tavern door and carry me with them. Taking me. Claiming me.

Looking back at the tavern’s occupants I see over two dozen sets of eyes upon us, yet no one seems prepared to move. The villagers and my father stare and watch as the orc carries me away. The patron’s faces are a mixture of apathy, shock, amusement. Tomund, the town drunk, lifts his foam topped mug of ale in a toast, then downs it in one chugging swallow and slams it onto the table. A wedding tradition. Rage drives out fear, my body thrumming with an itch to cause damage. That same terrible temper that’s turned all of the town’s young men against me in favor of more pleasant and easier conquests.

“Fucking cowards,” I hiss at them. Accepting that none of them will intervene, especially not my father who is too busy counting out his bag of coins into his palm to watch me being carried away like a sheep being sold for slaughter. I seethe. Anger churns in my belly.

“I hope all of your crops shrivel and blight. Let none of your ewes foal,” I curse them, spitting onto the threshold of the tavern’s doorway as I’m carried out and hauled up onto a horse.

Horse? More like a four hoofed monster. The orc’s mount is a great, shaggy beast that looks as much like a horse as a dog looks like a wolf. The creature’s kinky, twisted mane fluffs up wildly between two long, pivoting ears. Even the horse’s hair has twists of beads and shards of bone woven into it. This monstrous creature must be sixteen or seventeen hands high. There’s no saddle on its back, just a blanket and a bundled roll strapped across the beasts’ torso and belted with strips of leather. My hands fist in the horse’s mane in the absence of having nowhere else to grab. A fall from this height would hurt.

The orc who’s bought me jumps onto the back of the beast in one flawless leap and seats himself behind me. The firm press of his body against my back is shocking. Struggling to untangle my legs from my skirts I finally manage to settle. My dress rides up until half of my legs are exposed, my stockings slumping towards my ankles and boots in the process. His arm curls around me and his entire hand nearly fits from one side of my waist to the other as he curls me backwards into his embrace and grabs the reins in his other hand.

“Looks like you’ve got a live one,” one of the orcs chuckles.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Atul rumbles behind me.

His grip on my waist is loose. Loose enough that I could wiggle out and fall if I could distract him long enough to run and make a break for it. If my skirts don’t trip me and make me break an ankle. Which they probably would. And if I could outrun this horse. Which I can’t. And if the orc wouldn’t chase me down. Which he most definitely would. And where would I go? Back to my father, who just sold me to a monster? Back to the village that let it happen with nary a peep of protest? My stomach twists as reality settles into my heart. There’s nowhere to go. No one to help me. I’m trapped. Trapped on this monstrous horse just as firmly as I’m trapped between this orc’s monstrous thighs.

“Fire is good,” the orc chief says. “It breeds strong sons.”

My stomach settles like a lead weight inside of my body. An orc’s bride, bought for breeding. Tears prick at my eyes and burn, unshed.

“Where are we going?” I ask, hating that my voice hitches a little. Resolved, I vow to not cry. This orc will earn my anger, not my tears, if he tries to touch me. I may be too small to stop him from taking what he wants but I can bite, and kick, and scratch him up in the process. He won’t take his pleasure from me without a fight.

“Home,” he grunts. And then he refuses to answer any more of my questions.

The orcs all mount their horses and then the leader cuts ahead, beginning our trek as they take me from my home. My village. My life. Everything I’ve ever known.

The bony protuberance of the horse’s shoulders bites into my thighs and buttocks as it carries us, and I squirm. Yet no matter how much I fidget or shift it’s always there. The lack of a saddle is unbearable. I make a sound of frustration in the back of my throat as I try to get comfortable. And then there’s something else pressing against me and I realize after a moment that it’s the orc himself… and it’s not his battle-ax.

The orc grunts and his hand slides to my hip. He cradles it in one, large hand. Every bump and sway of the horse’s walk slides our bodies together. Rubbing, and pressing. He grows larger, his breath hot in my ear as he holds me in place on the horse and sways against me. The growing press of his erection against my buttocks shocks me into stillness.

My back is ramrod straight and my attention is focused on the path before us as I try, and fail, to keep the thoughts of his large, swollen member out of my mind as the orc carries me off to his home. His bride. The woman he intends to breed.

Chapter Two

Uncertain of what I’d expected to see, I know it wasn’t this. The orcs live underground like the dwarves. That much I knew. But what I hadn’t known was that they live in actual cities carved into the bedrock like an underground fortress. Magikal lamps, lit with an unearthly fire that glows faintly green, line the wall in torches and glass walled lanterns. They range in size from small to large, lighting everything from doorways to walkways.

Somehow, they even have trees growing underground, and I wonder what magik is responsible for this. It must have cost a fortune. An orc stable master steps forward to lead each mount away as my husband pulls me off his horse. My legs are boneless jelly and I nearly slump in complete and utter fatigue after so many hours of journey.

I hobble, unable to walk fast enough for him due to my inexperience with horseback riding and my exhaustion from the several hours-long journey between my village and the orc’s fortress. Hissing with every step I gasp when he bends down and picks me up as if I weigh no more than a sack of flour.

“I don’t think Atul is going to be doing anymore riding tonight,” another orc catcalls, much to the amusement of his friends who cackle with glee at the crass remark. My back stiffens in response. If I had hackles they’d be raised.

The chieftain slams his palm into the back of the joker's head. The orc stumbles and mutters an apology.

“Is that anyway to treat a breeder?” the orc leader asks. His voice is tense, deep, and angry.

“No,” they answer mulishly in unison. The joker scurries away, and his friends follow suit as they make themselves busy with grabbing weapons and sacks of belongings. Elder orcs and children come up to greet the returning raiding party. There’s even one with a twisted, warped leg. He hobbles, leaning on a crutch as he takes up his share of the burden and brings it into their underground mountain village.

“What’s your name?” Atul asks as he cradles me to his chest and carries me deeper into their home.

Glancing up at him I study his features in the warm, flickering light. His nose is crooked as if it’s been broken and healed without being set. His brow is strong and forward, matching the jutting of his lower lip and jaw. White tusks curve upwards in his jaw. His ears are pointed like an elf’s, but smaller. And the entirety of him is green, but just as my skin isn’t just beige, his is more than green. There’s purple in his shadows, and peach across his cheeks and ears. His skin ranges in shade and hue from pale, green grass to deep, forest green. There are even freckles, dark brown spots, along his cheeks and nose and shoulders.

“Cyna,” I tell him after considering mulishly not answering him. But he’s been polite, even if he’s bought me. And while I don’t particularly want to lie under him and take that club he calls a prick, I don’t want to earn his rage, either. My father is an unkind man with a quick temper and an even quicker fist. This orc’s slap could probably kill me in one blow.

“Cyna,” he repeats, his tongue making the C into an S sound as he tries to say my name around his tusks. “I’m Atul. Chieftain’s son. We live in Nargila, deep in the Khelukkhel mountains. I tell you this so that you will not try to run. There are worgen and chimera and beasts in the mountains that will not hesitate to kill and eat you. And if you are lucky, they will do it in that order,” he adds.

A shiver runs down my spine and I cross my arms and glare at him as he carries me away from the others and down a winding, twisting path within their strange, underground forest. As angry as I am, though, even I can’t deny how beautiful it is. Small things scurry in the shrubbery and there are even birds down here. They chirp, hidden among the branches of the towering trees. Luminescent mushrooms grow in rings and clusters among the forest floor, their glow casting light in a variety of yellows, pinks, and blues. It’s beautiful, and strange.

“Where would I even go?” I ask him, irritated.

He grunts.

Because truly, there’s nowhere to go. We’ve traveled too far by mount for me to return home on foot. What took hours with rugged, mountain horses would take me a week on foot. Lost, scared, defenseless, weaponless. I’m not stupid. My odds of survival are basically none. Not without him on my side. But the thought doesn’t endear me to him.

He glances at me, but if my ire annoys him then he says nothing in return. Eventually he takes a turn down a smaller less traveled path and I’m surprised to see that the orcs don’t like in hollowed out caves like I’d assumed. Instead, they live in trees.

Atul’s house is carved inside of a giant monster of a redwood tree. The trunk is nearly wider than my father’s small tavern. He carries me inside and sets me on my feet. A muscle in my thigh cramps at the stretching, and my back aches as I stand up straighter. My breath hisses through clenched teeth as I watch him move about his home. He sits down at his table and pulls his knives from his leather straps. There’s a wet stone and a jar of oil and a rag. The orc sets about cleaning them as he ignores me.

I glance about the room, looking around with equal parts curiosity and amazement as I take in his living quarters. There’s a good variety of furniture, and most of it is carved and decorated. Elaborate hunting scenes and nature themes dress up every piece. There is a hearth with a magik, fireless flame inside and a shaggy animal-fur rug laid out before it. Whatever that beast was before it died at the hands of these orcs it was humongous. The fur is white and twisted and it had six limbs whenever it was alive.

“A lagdog,” he says. “They make dens in the mountains in the winter when they breed. They’re hard to kill because they usually travel in mated triads. This one I caught alone. Its mates had died already,” he explains.

I stare harder at the fur rug and try to picture what its owner used to look like.

“Hmm…”

“You’re sore,” he tells me, as if I didn’t already know that.

I nod and move away from him, stepping closer to the fire. The joking orc’s barb floats to mind. Images of this orc riding me like a stallion covering a mare rise to the forefront of my mind. My stomach twists even though something deeper and hidden within me throbs. Tired. I’m just tired and overwrought. This day has just been too much for anyone to handle. I glance at his growing stack of sharpened knives as he runs the blade of each down his whetstone and works them. He’s halfway through his pile of work. I can imagine what happens to me when he’s done.

Backing up until I bump into the magik hearth’s mantle I flatten my back against it and widen my stance.

“There’s a bathing room just beyond that door,” he says as he nods his head to his left.

I glance. Sure enough there is a door and next to it a spiral staircase that’s been cut into the sides of the tree. It spirals up, and up, and up. Way above my head there’s a floor, as if this living area has been carved in tiers. What I’d assumed is his entire house is really just one room. How high does his home go? Not as tall as this tree, I hope. My legs feel half-useless, and it’s a miracle I’m still standing.

Still, the urgent need to relieve myself after hours of journeying on horseback and being carted around like a war-prize is strong. Without saying thank you I duck into his bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. No lock. Not that I think a lock or a door would stop this orc. Not if he truly wanted to be on the other side of his obstacle.

Atul’s bathing chamber is less primitive than I’d thought, and I wonder if anything I’d heard of orcs is true. Everyone paints them as barbarous men, barely better than beasts or the monsters that they kill for the bounties and rewards. And yet they have an entire village carved into a mountain, and they’ve made a home in the least inhabitable and most dangerous place in Lorinde.

Shaking my head, I explore the bathing room, testing each metal knob and dial. Not only is there running water, but it heats, too. There’s a line of etched sigils on the copper pipes. They’re wards, magiked to heat the water as it runs through them. Even my father’s tavern couldn’t afford such a luxury. Not with its distance from the heart of town where the magik source is strongest. Instead, water was pulled up from the well bucket by bucket, and headed on the stove in giant kettles.

My gaze turns to spy an enormous copper tub and my heart nearly stops. A bath. An honest to goodness bath tub. Feeling as giddy as a child on High Day I cross the bathroom and turn the tub’s dials. Water, cold and clear, filters in. Spotting the rubber plug, I stop up the tub and watch it fill. Steam curls off the water as the pipes heat it with their ensorcelled spell. No longer caring that he probably just wants me naked and clean so he can rape me I shuck my clothes, tearing the laces open at my chest and wrists so that I can pull my dirty dress over my head. My stockings and boots and modesty wrap are next.

Sparing just one glance to the unlockable door I lean on the rim of the tub and step into the water. It’s so hot that I can hardly stand it and my skin pinkens the longer I sit in it. But it’s pure bliss. The tub is so deep that the water comes up to my collarbone. Sinking back into it I sigh and close my eyes. Once the tub is full I shut off the taps and just relax.

My eyes drift close and then suddenly I’m awake, the water cooled to a tepid degree. My fingers and toes are water logged and wrinkled. Sitting up, water splashes around my neck and soaks my long hair flat to my skull.

There’s another knock at the door. “Cyna? Are you alright? If you don’t answer me I’m going to come in.”

“Don’t!” I call out, my hands moving to cover my naked breasts in case he doesn’t listen. Not that I can fight him off if he’s truly bent on ravaging me.

“All right,” he calls through the door. “Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t drowned,” he grumbles. And then he adds “the jar has hair wash in it. And there’s a heel of soap by the tub.”

He steps away, his movements creaking in underneath the crack under the bathroom door. I hunt down the bar of soap and set about washing the filth of travel from my body. I’m sore, but the hot water has helped loosen my aching joints. The soap is utilitarian and rough, but I’m used to worse. Father is as cheap as he is short tempered. The hair wash, on the other hand, is pure luxury. I am used to using rough lye and animal fat soaps in my hair, only washing it once a week because the detangling, soaping, and vinegar rinsing process is time consuming and water must be heated pail by pail. Typically my mother and sisters and I share the bath water, heating new kettles to stretch the hot water further. Bathing day is the opposite of relaxing, unlike this. If people knew what luxuries the orcs lived in they’d swarm them.

The hair rinse smells clean, and fresh, and minty, and my scalp tingles as I lather it and rinse it out. And then the rest of my body tingles as the hair rinse melts into the bath water. My nipples tighten into firm peaks and the cleft between my thighs throbs and swells. I inhale, my eyes wide, as my body reacts. Mint oil. My clit throbs and I bite my lip to stifle my shocked moan. Fuck. Rising up to a kneeling position to pull the drain stopper from the bottom of the tub just makes things worse. The stopper sticks and I have to arch my back to get enough leverage to tug it free. My thighs widen, even more of the mint creeping between my folds to set my core on fire as I finally work the rubber stopper free and the tub begins to drain.

“Fuck,” I curse, my hand moving to cover my slit as if I can stop my body’s reaction to the oil. My body spasms around air, empty and needy. I grit my teeth and stand on shaky, overtired legs as the rest of the oil slicked water drains away.

Standing, I shiver from the reaction of the air brushing against my mint tingled skin. From the cold, and the flushing, and the arousal. Moisture creeps between my thighs and I know that it’s not just my body’s betraying reaction to the mint. He’s going to take me tonight. Fuck me. Breed me. My clit throbs and my nipples harden into aching points.

I shouldn’t be aroused by the thought. He’s an orc… little better than a monster. And yet… I’m curious. My body remembers the feel of him pressed tight against my butt and back. It remembers the way that his engorged club nestled between my ass cheeks. The way that his large, calloused hand circled my waist. I wonder what it will feel like to have a man between my thighs. A cock between my folds. Inside of me.

My hand glides down my belly and cards through the curls between my legs. Fingers slip through my folds and find me wet and wanting. My clit is swollen and tented. Sensitive. My body shivers as I brush it and slip down to find my entrance. I’m even wetter there. I shouldn’t… shouldn’t touch myself to the thought of him. I should hate him. He’s bought me, taken me… bought me… and he’s going to… I sigh as my legs clench and my pussy tenses as my fingers probe my hold and sink inside. He’s going to put it… his prick there… going to fuck me. My body is hot and hungry as I slip two fingers inside of myself and push. The heel of my thumb brushes against my clit and a bolt of pleasure shoots through me as I clench around my fingers and pulse.

“I’ve left you some clothing,” Atul calls through the door.

My hand withdraws from my cunt in a mixture of shame and embarrassment as I’m dragged back to the present by Atul’s voice. We’re separated by a slab of wood that doesn’t lock and I have my fingers in my pussy like a wanton harlot. Guilty feelings stab through me as I grab a fluffy towel from his stack beside the tub and wrap myself in it.

“T… thank you,” I call out. And I’m relieved again when his footsteps retreat. Stepping from the tub I dry myself and wrap my body in the towel. It’s enormous, and it covers me from neck to knee. Of course it’s big… he’s big. I barely reach his chest.

Wet hair sticks to my back as I focus on drying myself as quickly as I can. I desire to be naked for as little time as possible as I towel myself off in case he opens the door and strides inside. Even though he hasn’t… and he could have... but he didn’t. Wrapping the towel around myself until I’m nearly completely covered I crack the door open and peek outside. Atul is nowhere to be seen, but there is indeed a packet of clothing folded neatly on the floor before the door. Snatching it up I haul it inside and quickly shut the door again.

The dress is an actual dress, which is nice. I’d half expected some sort of leather barbarian woman outfit. Instead, the dress is a human dress. The stitches are tiny and even and it’s a pretty burgundy color with a little black embroidery along the collar and wrists. It laces at the front and wrists like I’m used to. I wonder where they got it. Whose dress am I wearing? Did they buy it or raid it? Eying my own rumpled, smelly, dirty dress I quickly decide against refusing mine to wear this gift instead. With my modesty wrap settled back over my still slightly damp body I put on the dress. The burgundy fabric is soft even if I’m hardly it’s first owner. It fits well enough once it’s laced, although I notice that the dress is cut to cup the breasts and then flow freely down instead of lacing all the way to the hip. This is a mother’s dress, made for an expanding woman. A pregnant one. My gut clenches as I consider it and its implications.

Bought to be bred.

I hadn’t even known that orcs and humans could produce offspring. Elves and humans occasionally have children… but orcs? Considering the sheer size of their species it will be a miracle if I even survive the birthing bed. If I don’t die from the seeding itself. I remember the size of the thing that rubbed against me. My body clenches as if it’s trying to shut out the memory of his body pressed against mine.

Steeling my resolve, I leave the bathing room. Hiding won’t delay my fate, and neither will trying to flee. Likely he’d just bring me back with a few extra bruises and scrapes for my trouble. My fate would be the same. I step out, prepared to be grabbed up and claimed. Conquered. Only nobody is there. The hollow treehouse is empty, and Atul’s collection of freshly sharpened knives are gone. I glance about, but all I can see is his double headed battle axe and a few broadswords mounted onto wooden pegs on the wall. Too heavy for me to lift, even if I could reach them.

Exploring the room I trace my hand over each piece of elaborately carved furniture. That’s when I hear it, the music. A flute. The sound comes from somewhere high above, carried down and doubled from the shape of this hollow room as it echoes. I find the stairs and begin the long climb, my legs protesting the activity even after their soaking.

The second story is a bedroom. A bed, large and wide enough to fit six humans, dominates the center of the space. A chest of drawers and an old, rusty trunk are the only other things in here.

Atul is sitting on a balcony with a reed instrument between his lips. He plays, the notes mingling with the breeze through the opening. I watch him for a moment, my hand poised on the balcony railing. He hasn’t seen me yet, not with the way that he’s facing away. I could… could what? Run? Instead, I step forward.

He turns his head and stops, the instrument falling to his lap as I step closer to him.

Approaching closer I glance out over the balcony and my heart nearly stops. It’s beautiful. From up here you can see the rest of the forest and it makes me wonder how high we are to have such a view. Lights twinkle all around us as orcs go on about their daily lives. Returning home, or heading into their city. Children play a game of tag in an open clearing. Their laughter carries towards us, even all the way up here. Older, white-haired orcs sit in the grass and watch them play.

I step fully out onto the balcony, resting my arms on the ledge as I peer out and watch the orcs mill about below us. We’re both silent until he sets his flute back to his lips and plays. It’s surprising to hear his skill with the instrument, despite his tusks. Yet another thing I didn’t know about orcs. It makes me wonder if anyone knows what their culture is really like. Beautiful. Rich. Amazing.

“You didn’t try to flee,” he says.

“Would I have gotten far?” I ask in return, already knowing the answer.

He grunts and fiddles with his instrument. “No… but most try anyway.”

I shrug, pretending to be braver than I feel. “My legs still hurt.”

His booming laughter makes me feel warm inside, which is startling. I shouldn’t be feeling anything towards this… this orc. Shouldn’t be curious about his interest in music… or appreciate his taste in furniture. I turn to glance at him and in the dim magik lamplit light his eyes seem to twinkle as he gazes up at me from where he sits on the balcony floor.

“I didn’t expect you to be funny,” he chuckles. His lips twitch up at the corner in a roguish, toothy grin.

“I… didn’t expect you to be kind.”

Because he has been. He could have thrown me down and taken me on the floor. Or set me to some hard labor task. Or cuffed me upside the head and beat me. And yet he’s done nothing but see to my comfort. Atul let me bathe and gave me time and peace and then brought me fresh, clean clothing. He stands, and his movements are fluid and easy despite his size and bulk. Again, he towers over me. I crane my head up to look at him, unwilling to back down from him. My heart freezes when he reaches towards me. My feet are rooted to the spot. This is it. He’ll toss me down and… and… but all Atul does is tuck a strand of my damp, curling hair behind my ear. His thumb brushes the rounded top, and then he withdraws and turns and retreats back into the bedroom.

“You must be hungry,” he says as he tucks the flute on a shelf and walks away.

My stomach rumbles in answer, an angry sound that could rival a feasting dragon. Going down the stairs is easier than going up them, although my hand clutches the handhold the entire way. My dress is slightly too long for me and it’s going to need hemming. I hobble slowly behind him, the distance between us growing as Atul disappears on the main floor and I’m left to my slow descent with trembling, overtired thighs. Still, the promise of food is enough to spur me forward. I haven’t eaten since I broke my fast at dawn, and while there’s no sun or magiked sundial to track the time of day I know that it was nearing sunset when we entered the Orc kingdom and climbed below the Earth.

By the time I’ve made it down the wooden stairs Atul has set his little table with two plates filled with food. His is loaded mostly with meat and root vegetables, but mine has a variety of food including a thick hunk of bread with a pat of melting butter.

“Where…” I glance around, but I can’t see a kitchen anywhere.

“A wedding gift from a neighbor. None will disturb us during our honeyed moon, except to bring us meals and various supplies,” he explains.

Atul takes two mugs to a large barrel and pours a golden liquid into each tankard, then stoppers it again. I sit and glance at my table setting. No knife, just a three pronged trident and a spoon. As if I could actually harm him with a little carving knife. The big, strong orc warrior with the battle scars and the double headed axe. The idea is laughable.

“What’s this?” I ask as he sets one of the steins in front of me.

“Fermented honey,” he answers as he takes a sip from his own tankard and plucks out his choice in meat from his plate.

Taking a sip of my own I’m startled by the explosion of flavor on my tongue. Viscous, floral, and sweet. And extremely alcoholic. The mead goes down smooth and dangerous. I swirl it in my tankard, enjoying the color.

“Oh… man,” I moan as I take another sip. My father would have made a fortune with such a beverage.

“A wedding gift from the dwarves,” he explains as he chews.

Not wanting to get too drunk too quickly I set about tucking into my meal. The food is simple fare, but rich and hearty and delicious. It’s gone too quickly for my mouth’s preference even though my belly says it’s full. I can see the tankard bottom in my mug now and my thoughts feel warm and fuzzy around the edges. I watch Atul eat. He’s surprisingly refined for having such large lower canine teeth.

“Have you ever met a dwarf?” I ask, curious at how the orcs got such a priceless gift from them. The dwarves are secretive and independent. They make the best of everything, but they rarely trade with anyone but the elves.

He shrugs. “A few times. My father did Orin a great favor many years ago. They take turns trying to pay off the life debt. Each payment is overly generous, so the debt merely moves to the other party It’s a game to them, I think.”

My eyes widen until they’re as large as my plate. “Orin… King Orin?”

Atul nods and quickly finishes the rest of his meal, chugging the last of his mead to wash it down. “ Yes. They’re… friends, I think.”

Propping my heavy head on the heel of my hand I study him. The mead has made my thoughts sluggish and fuzzy, and now that I’m clean and my belly is full the weight of the day settles on me, making me drowsy. I blink heavy eyes at him as he stares back at me. His eyes roam me, and I wonder what he sees. My mind mulls over this orc who plays the flute as easily as he probably swings a sword and who speaks casually of ancient, dwarven Kings.

My thoughts are muddled and slow, so I’m behind on the uptake as Atul picks me up and ignores my squeaking as he rises from the bench. I am cradled to his body, one arm behind my back and the other underneath my knees as he carries me towards the stairs. Wrapping my arm around his neck I yelp when he hoists me higher and begins to climb.

“I can walk!” I protest, even though my legs feel overstretched and I feel like I could fall asleep even standing up.

The orc snorts, his breath fanning my forehead and tickling the baby fine hairs that frame my face. “You were half asleep where you were sitting. Let me carry you.”

I’m more worried about where he is carrying me to, than the fact that he is carrying me at all. His hands on my skin. The giant, plush bed flashes before my eyes. My stomach flutters, the tankard of alcohol and giant plate of food seeming like a bad idea with every passing moment. He’s… we’re.... I can’t. My hand slides around his body to press against his chest, my nails digging into his skin. If he notices, then he doesn’t say anything. My plan to claw and bite and scratch at him seems futile and silly now. A big, strong orc like him… my pathetic flailing wouldn’t stop him. Can’t stop him.

Before I’m ready we’re at the top of the stairs and Atul drops me onto the bed. I bounce on the surprisingly plush mattress, my stomach threatening to return its contents at the sudden movements. Leaning back on my elbows I try to think beyond my rising panic.

His leather pants are unlaced and shoved down without any preamble. His member, thick and long, bobs free of its confinement. There’s no modesty wrapping underneath his britches. Not that I should be surprised… and yet I am.

My eyes zero in on his large penis even though I tell myself that I shouldn’t look. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of it. Atul kicks his pants off his legs and climbs onto the bed. I am paralyzed with fear and shock as he drags me, dress and all, into his side. That cock is… huge. Monstrous. Never going to fit.

He presses me against him and settles us in the center of the bed, tucking my head under his chin and wrapping his arm around my torso until his palm is flat against the small of my back. His penis twitches between us, its tip pressing against my stomach. I lie there, motionless and petrified, as he holds me tightly.

Time passes, and his breathing evens and slows. He’s… asleep? My muscles protest against the constant stiff tightening, and slowly, inch by inch, I relax against him. He snorts and grunts in his sleep and each breath fans the baby curls that frame my face even as he tucks me into the hollow of his body even tighter. His cock swells and presses against me in his sleep and I am wide awake, all intoxication gone. He’s even bigger and thicker than before. No. Just… no.

Eventually the fatigue and exhaustion pulls me down into sleep. The last thing that I’m aware of as I fall asleep beside this orc is that he’s deliciously warm and surprisingly comfortable to sleep against.

I wake to the sound of slurping and slapping and it takes me a moment to register where I am and what happened as I break free from my odd, half-remembered dream and become conscious. Rolling over in bed I see that Atul is awake beside me. Awake and pleasuring himself. His hand fists his penis, sliding up and down. His balls slap against his thighs with every tug, and pull, and push. He grunts, his breath hitching as his hips thrust his cock into his grip and he fucks into his stroking hand.

My lungs gulp in a sharp, inhale of air and his half-closed eyes snap open at the sound. He looks at me. Atul makes a ragged, filthy moan in the back of his throat as his hips buck upwards and his hand presses down harder and faster. He fists his cock, stroking himself. He’s dripping. Beads of clear, milky pre-cum leak profusely from the tip of his weeping cock as this man, this orc warrior who bought me, strokes himself.

My cleft tingles at the sights and sounds. This is the closest that I’ve ever seen a cock before. Atul is just handbreadth from me as he manipulates himself and grunts with every tug and thrust. My eyes are stuck to him. I can’t look away, not even if I wanted to… and I don’t. I can’t stop watching him.

With nipples pebbled into hard peaks and wetness growing between my thighs I watch him as he pleasures himself. He groans, and then his hips rise off the bed as he cums. Atul strokes his cock through his release as rivulets of semen pulse from his cocks. His balls twitch and pull up with every pump of fluid. His hand slows its stroking as he milks his prick and lets the seed dribble freely from his tip. It puddles on his belly, thick ropes of it marbling his stomach and splattering across his hips and thighs.

The orc, my orc husband, reaches across the divide between us and tugs me into the curve of his body. His cum seeps through the fabric of my dress as he hugs me closer and presses his face into my hair. Atul inhales, and I can’t stop my body’s reaction. My clit throbs with the sound as he drags my smell through his sinus and nuzzles the top of my head.

“Go back to sleep, wife.”

But I fear that sleep will never come to me again. Not after seeing him… that. His body is like a sculpture, all hard lines and jutting planes. Strong, muscled arms and legs pen me even closer to him as he tugs me into his front and spoons me. His cock, soft and malleable, lies between us. The wetness pressed against me seeps through my dress and into my skin. Branding me.

There are gentle snores again as Atul returns to sleep. As if waking up to rub one out is a normal, everyday occurrence. Perhaps, for him, it is. I, on the other hand, am unused to privacy. With a houseful of little siblings who need looking after and a tavern to help run I’m unused to leisure.

My body lies there, electrified and unable to sleep as my mind tries to process what just happened. My clit throbs and my folds are wet and I swallow past the lump in my throat as I try to force myself back to a state of calmness. Rest is a long time coming for me, even as Atul sleeps soundly and deeply beside me.

Chapter Three

Awakening in the bed alone I rub the crust of sleep from my eyes and glance around. The wet spot on my dress has dried the fabric stiff, so I know that last night’s activities weren’t dreamed. Not that I could have ever created such a sight from pure imagination. That thick, hard cock. It’s beyond believing.

My orc husband is nowhere to be seen, but I have bodily urges to attend to so I ignore my stained dress and rise to go downstairs and use the bathing room’s facilities. My legs are less stiff today so the stairs are easier.

Atul is sitting at the table and he’s sharpening one of his weapons again. It is the battle axe he’s working on this time. The double headed weapon is intimidating and frightening. If I saw someone running towards me with such a thing, I think I’d die of fright upon the spot. There’d be no need to even swing.

“How can you possibly lift that?” I ask, amazed.

He glances up at me as he slides the blade along the whetstone, sharpening it and smoothing out the knicks in the blade. What caused such damage? Armor, or bone, or a monstrous carapace? He must have a wealth of battle stories, the kinds of things that would have kept my little brothers entertained for hours.

Atul hefts the axe, his shoulders and pectorals bulging as he lifts it and mimics a swing. The weapon slices through the air with ease, the blade whistling as his arm swings it in an arc. He goes back to cleaning it and honing its edge as I creep closer, my hand reaching out to stroke its handle.

He pulls me into his lap, his hand cupping my hip as he hoists me on his well-muscled leg and holds me close. My heart pounds in his chest as I ignore him, my fingers caressing the length of the axe’s handle. It’s wide, a solid in my hand, too broad for my grip. A weapon meant for the hand of someone much larger. Stronger. Its weight is even heavier than I’d imagined. It takes me both hands and three tries to lift it off the table. My biceps strain with the effort. The axe thunks against the table as I let its weight drop.

The front door opens and we both turn to look as the orc chieftain enters. He pauses at the threshold, his eyes on the both of us as he steps inside and hefts a heavy looking sack.

“I brought you more supplies,” the battle-hardened elder orc explains.

“Thank you, father,” Atul says. His hand tightens on my hip as he tugs me backwards until I’m flush against his body. His thigh is warm and solid underneath me.

“How goes it? There’s no screaming or crying, it seems,” the chieftain asks.

My face burns hot at his insinuation.

“It goes well. We laid together last night and I spilled my seed,” Atul answers.

I shift to look at him, but Atul isn’t focusing on me. His attention is for his father alone, but his hand presses against my hip, his fingers splayed. He strokes his thumb along the bone of my pelvis. Suddenly I’m reminded of the proof of his seed spilling and the subsequent stain it made on my dress. Will Atul be in trouble if his father notices this deception? Confusion swirls inside of me. I curl into Atul’s side and twist, pressing my face against his chest as if I’m too embarrassed to face Atul’s lies and the orc’s father. It’s not too far off from the truth. The bigger benefit, however, is that it hides the dried smear of semen from view. Atul’s hand shifts to cup my butt and a tingle moves through me. His own father is in the room!

The chieftain grunts, then sets his sack of supplies on the ground and leaves without another word. When the door closes and the chieftain is gone I sit back and place my hands on Atul’s chest. We are eye to eye this way with me perched on his lap.

“You lied to him,” I accuse him softly, more confused than irritated.

He arches a brow, “did I?”

I purse my lips together and give him a wry look. “Yes. Why?”

Atul brushes a curl from my face and tucks it behind my ear. His hand lingers on the edge of my jaw. His fingers splay from my ear to the back of my neck. “Because I don’t want you to hate me. And whether I’m his son or not, as chieftain he can still demand to view a consummation.”

My mind is reeling as I gape at him. “But… what? Why would he want to watch his son…”

He shrugs. “Breeding is important for a healthy clan. As chief he has the right to view a consummation. The fact that I’m his son changes nothing.”

I am still stuck on the fact that their chieftain watches them fuck. That he can demand to watch, and they must obey. “Okay… but… why? And why take human brides? Why not… b… breed with orc women?”

His thumb swipes across my lower lip as he palms my jaw. I’m still perched on his lap, tucked up against him and the intimacy of the position is distracting. “We don’t have any females of our kind. We only breed with other races.”

I squint at him, uncertain if this is another lie of his. A convenient excuse to explain and justify why they fucking bought me from my father. Bride dowry, my ass. They bought me and I haven’t forgotten.

Atul’s mouth quips in a smile which only makes me scowl deeper.

“What, your village doesn’t know the story? I thought that everyone knew of the downfall of the poor orcs,” he says.

I move to slide off his lap, not caring for the teasing tone of his voice. But he refuses to let me go. His hands grip me and hold me on his lap, both hands sliding to cup my ass and hold me there. I wiggle, but he only squeezes in response, spreading my cheeks and bringing a hot blush to my face.

“I’ll tell you the story. Ellalwen, the ancient elven queen fell in love with a beast,” he starts. His voice is low and earnest. It’s taken on the otherworldly tone that all good storytellers take when they begin a favorite tale.

“Orcansan, a forest deity who carved the valleys between the mountains with his great tusks. The queen fell pregnant with the fruit of their coupling, and gave birth to a mighty son. Her husband, King Ihuel, was indignant that his wife should lie with another and bear them a child when she’d failed to produce his own heir,” he adds.

Atul’s grip tightens on my backside, his fingers pressing deep and kneading.

“He asked the great and powerful sorcerer Krynalf to kill his wife and the child so that he might marry another,” he adds in a deep voice for emphasis.

“The sorcerer, sworn to obey his King, but unable to harm such innocents, could only altar the curse’s limits. Instead of killing the child, he cursed it to being the last of its kind. No female orcish would ever be born,” Atul says as he stares into my eyes.

“And for the queen, she was ensorcelled into eternal slumber. Hidden, below ground, to never be seen by her kin again. Her name was struck from every record. Every instance of her life was wiped out. Her family was sworn to forget she’d ever existed. But the young orcling grew up in the care of the sorcerer. He learned to be strong, and brave. He grew. And one day he too fell in love with a young elf woman who lived on the outskirts of Crystal Hills. And of their union, she bore a son. For while the sorcerer had cursed the orcs to never bear a female child, he’d never said anything about sons,” Atul finishes with a grin.

Atul’s kneading grip on my buttocks is distracting as I listen to his fairytale with rapt interest. It’s the first I’m hearing of it.

“Wouldn’t the baby have been half elf and half orc?” I ask, not convinced of the truthfulness of the tale.

He shrugs, the movement pulling my butt apart as he jiggles me on his lap. My thighs clench in response. Every tug pulls at my lower lips and its… distracting.

“I’m just a warrior. I leave the workings of magik to those gifted with it.”

I hum and stare at him, my head cocked as we gaze at one another.

“You can stop palming my ass. Your father is gone,” I remind him.

Atul’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into my soft flesh as he jostles me on his knee and grips me even tighter. He spreads me, and I can feel my lower lips parting as he does so. My body twitches in response, a natural reaction to the stimulation. Nobody has ever touched me like this before.

“But what if I like your ass? Soft and round. What’s not to enjoy?” He leans forward, his nose pressed to mine as his lips hover above my own. His tusks press against my cheek and I’m surprised that they’re not overly sharp. This infuriating orc keeps kneading my buttocks as his face hovers over mine, his lips half-pressed against my slack mouth in an almost-kiss for what feels like ages.

“You... you shouldn’t,” I remind him.

“I’m your husband. Why shouldn’t I enjoy touching my wife?” he whispers against my mouth. Our lips touch with every syllable, and yet he’s still not kissing me.

“You’re not… we’re not really married,” I tell him.

He tilts his head, his lips brushing against the side of my mouth and his tusk rubbing against my face as he nuzzles me. “We’re married, wife. I declared you my wife in front of witnesses, and you didn’t object.”

“I.. it’s… argh. We’re not married. There was no priest. No wrist binding with a hand-fast cord. You’re not my husband,” I object. Just because he bought me from my father doesn’t mean that he’s my husband.

“Is that what you require, little human? A priest? Some ribbon? I can fetch these. I want a boon, though,” he bargains.

I swallow past the lump in my throat as he rubs his face against mine, all the while his hands roam my backside. Feeling, caressing, sliding up and down. He pries my ass apart, each movement tugging my folds apart until they grow wet and slick. My heart hammers in my chest.

“W… what do you want?” I ask, more than a little afraid of the answer. Even as my body clenches at the idea of what he could demand. My body. My mouth around that prick. Or my legs splayed wide as he settles between them, aligns us, and thrusts. Mounting and breeding me. My nipples tighten so hard they could cut glass and my clit throbs, made worse with every teasing rub and tug of his hands on my buttocks.

“A kiss,” he answers.

I laugh, a short burst of exhalation as his nose lines up again with mine. Our mouths hover like moons caught in orbit. “Is that all? Take it.”

Because I’m dying for him to kiss me, now. To feel the press of his mouth against mine. To feel his tongue stroke my lower lip, then thrust inside. A mimic of what his cock could do between my legs. I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want an orc to kiss me. Take me. Fuck me. Breed me. And yet I do. I want all of that, and more. He could have taken me by force last night. Could have pinned me down and forced that cock inside of me. And yet he didn’t. Instead, he fed me and clothed me and held me while I slept. He kept me safe. He lied for me, to spare me a public shaming. The image of his cock resurfaces in my mind. The scene of him stroking himself to completion plays on a loop in my head. That dripping tip. The way his balls tightened to his body and surged with every spray of cum. Those long ropey streams of semen as he splattered his own belly. I clench around air. Hungry. Desperate for more, for something I’ve never known before.

“No, little human. I want you to kiss me.”

He leans back a fraction, just enough that we can stare into one another's eyes from where I sit on his lap. His hands have stilled their exploration of my body as he waits for his answer. He’s thrown down the challenge, and it’s up to me to accept it. Or not. He’s giving me a choice.

My gaze slides down to his lips. Softer than they look. A darker shade of green with a hint of peach on the inside. They curve around his tusks. If I kiss those lips he’ll go find a priest to marry us. My orc husband.

Mouth dry and palms sweaty with nerves I cup his face in my hands and enjoy the feel of his stubble. It’s rough against my palm. Masculine. Virile. Leaning forward, slowly, I press my mouth against his. My kiss is timid and uncertain. His tusks make this awkward. And I’ve no natural skill at kissing, no practice.

But then he presses a hand to the small of my back tilting me back, and it deepens. Atul places a smattering of tiny kisses against my mouth and I open for him. His tongue snakes out, licking the seam of my lips. I open wider. Unfurling for him like a blossoming flower.

He kisses me deeper then, his tongue invading my mouth in a ravaging kiss as he explores me and leaves no crevice unchecked. The slickness between my lower lips increases as he kisses the breath out of me. I’m still cupping his face and pulling him in deeper. Sliding my tongue forward I tangle mine with his, caressing him in return. He moans into my mouth, and the sound goes right through me. I pulse, my pussy clenching around nothing. His hands slide back down to my ass and he’s rubbing in earnestness, now. He spreads my cheeks, pulling the petals of my sex apart, then pushes them back together until they squish. It’s sinful. Amazing.

I moan in return as Atul strokes my tongue with his own and sucks. After what feels like both eternity and just a few, brief moments he stops and pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. He shudders and I pant as we both recover.

“I’ll fetch you your priest. And when I return, little human, I’m going to fuck you until you scream,” he promises as he hefts his battle axe and lifts me off his lap.

Chapter Four

The priest is terrified and mumbling a never-ending line of prayers as he kneels in front of my soon to be orc-husband and chants. I don’t have the heart to tell Atul that this priest is from the wrong sect. He’s a priest of Aros, the god of alchemy and healing, not a worshiper of Induimen, the goddess of the forge who maintains the fire in the hearth and home and joins two families in holy union with her hammer.

Atul smiles, his lips curling wide across his tusks, as he points towards the priest and holds up a short length of twine. It’s not the prettiest of marriages… but the fact that he raided a village to kidnap me this priest is… charming. Heartwarming, even. Has anyone ever gone to such lengths just to please me? My mind blanks as I try to recall and come up empty.

“Say your words, priest,” Atul orders gruffly.

The priest prays harder as he cowers.

I laugh before I can stop myself. “No… um, he means for you to marry us.”

The priest stops his chanting to look at me like I’ve grown a second head. He blinks, glancing between me and Atul.

“W… what? I’m not… I can’t…” the priest mutters.

Atul twirls his double headed axe and leans forward menacingly towards the poor, frightened man.

“It’s fine, just do the best you can,” I reassure him.

The priest swallows and stands on trembling legs. He takes the cord from Atul and begins to pray over our hands. When my orc stretches his arm out I lay mine on top of his and my belly flutters with nerves. I’m getting married to an orc. It feels surreal as the priest waxes poetic about honoring and obeying one another, forsaking others and turning towards duty and the sanctity of the heart. The priest stumbles a bit over the portion where the hammer pounds the metal, shaping it on the anvil with the blessing of the fire’s forge. The man blushes and rattles on. I take Atul’s large hand in mine, pressing my palm flat against his. Our fingers intertwine and he dwarfs me. The priest ties the cord around our wrists and knots it three times, then says a prayer to both the virgin mother and the sacred whore.

“Is it finished?” Atul asks as he glances between me, our bound wrists, and the priest.

The priest wipes his sweat beaded brow and nods, his face pale and pinched.

Atul smiles, but there’s nothing kind or reassuring about it. “Good. Now get out,” he orders.

The priest doesn’t need to be told twice. He flees, banging the tree house door shut behind him as he bolts.

I slant my eyes towards my husband… oh gods and goddesses… my husband… I’m married… “that wasn’t very kind.”

He grins at me, unperturbed. “I never claimed to be kind.”

Atul says this, but he’s been nothing but kind to me so far. He bought me, true. But so could any man with enough coins pay my bride price. He’s fed and clothed me, given me privacy, kept me safe… And he hasn’t raised a hand to me. He could, I’m very aware of that, but I’m getting the feeling that he won’t. My thoughts turn back to that moment on the balcony when he played his music while he probably wondered if I was, at that very moment, running away from him in terror.

I trust him, I realize. And it’s shocking, because I hardly know him.

Our wrists tug against one another as he turns and pulls me against his chest. He splays his free hand against my back between my shoulder blades. The tight line of the cord that binds us together tugs right at my heart. He pulls a sharp little dagger from somewhere on his clothing and holds it poised just under the line of cord. He pauses and raises one eyebrow in a silent question, and I nod. Atul dips me backwards over his arm and leans forward, his mouth finding mine as he kisses me until my legs go weak. He catches me easily and I lean into it, trusting him. The cold press of metal slides against the inside of my wrist as he cuts out binding apart. One wrong twitch or flick of his wrist and I’ll be gravely injured. Possibly killed. The danger of it is exciting, and I wonder if I’ve always been this way and hadn’t known it. I like that he’s wild and untamed. Dangerous. Lethal. This big, strong orc who rages in battle and who picks me up like it’s nothing. He could crush me. And I like it. My body thrums at the thought. That this powerful orc wants me. That I’m his.

He scoops me up and presses me to his torso as I go limp and boneless in his grip. My cheek presses against his chest and I can hear his heart beating. It’s as fast as wild as my own. He’s not as unaffected as he pretends.

He slings me over his shoulder and carries me up the winding staircase. It’s dizzying to watch the world pass upside down with a shoulder lodged in my stomach. I grab for his leather straps, the waistband of his leather pants… anything. His arm bars across the tops of my thighs and his hand reaches up to massage my butt as he brings me upstairs. Towards the bed where he’s going to ravish me.

I remember that just yesterday I’d vowed to kick and bite and scratch him if he attempted such a thing, and now I’m being carted up to his bed willingly. Perhaps… I’m reminded of the times my sister and I would play captive princess and evil sorceress. The feel of the ropes on my skin always sent a sense of excitement through me. It seems odd to feel safe and secure by being tied and bound. And yet I always loved it. That feeling only grew with time as I became older. Morphing, changing just as my body changed too. Evolving into something darker and exciting. Something inherently sensual.

“Atul,” I say before I lose my nerve. “I… I want to fight you. Just a little.” Not for real. Because he’d pulverize me if he meant it. But still... the thrill of it… the idea makes me wet and hot.

The hand that’s rubbing my ass stills. “Hmm?” he hums.

“I… uh… want to… resist? A bit? Does that make sense?” I ask, uncertain. The idea of being thrown onto the bed, held down, and wrestled… my thighs squish together as I squirm.

“Ah,” he replies. “My little wife wants to play?” He smacks my ass, his palm cracking with the force of the smack. The fabric of my dress muffles the spank, but my butt still smarts. I yelp and squirm on his shoulder, kneeing him in the neck in the process. He hikes me higher on his shoulder and tips me more. It feels like I’m falling for a moment, but he catches me. My heart is hammering in my throat and I feel alive, like I’ve been shocked by a magikal ward. More. I want more of this feeling.

“If… uh… I say the word ‘priest’ then I mean what I say. Otherwise, it’s pretend,” I instruct him.

He chuckles and I glare at his flexing backside. And then a thought crosses my mind. Before I can stop myself I reach down and loudly smack his ass. My hand hurts more than I think I hurt him, but it catches his attention. Atul shakes me a little on his shoulder and smacks my bottom three more times. The sharp stings please me in a way I’ve never felt before. They’re more shocking than painful. I claw him a little, my nails digging furrows into the muscles of his back. He growls, and my modesty wrappings fucking flood. My core clenches and my clit throbs as moisture pools between my thighs.

“Put me down!” I yell at him, my fists banging into his sides. He grunts when I land a blow over his kidney. He nips my thigh with his teeth, those tusks digging into my skin without actually hurting as he bites me. The dull pressure with the stinging pain of my backside sends a thrill through me.

“You’re mine,” he snarls, hoisting me higher on his shoulder. “My bride. I paid good coin for you, and you’re going to earn your keep tonight with your body.”

I am trying to get enough leverage to kick him as I wiggle and writhe from my position up on his shoulder. “You can’t do this!”

Atul’s hand slides up my ankle, gliding to the sensitive skin of the back of my knee as he works his hand underneath my borrowed dress and caresses upward. I gasp, inhaling in surprise and going still. His hand keeps traveling up, and up, and up. His fingers rub against my core through my modesty wrap. The damp fabric molds against my body as he presses. Teasing me. Exploring. I moan.

“I’ll do as I please,” he growls. And still his fingers probe me, sliding up and down my dew soaked folds. He caresses my slit from top to bottom, stroking me. “You’re mine, now.”

“S… stop,” I moan. But my wiggling has died down as he fingers my cloth covered slit. My eyes close of their own volition as I stop fighting him. My nails digging into the muscles of his shoulder are the last of my false resistance. How can I fight this when it feels so good?

“There’s no stopping, now, little human. You should have run when you had the chance,” he threatens me.

He rucks my dress up until the skirts fall down my back. My backside is on display, my modesty wrap the only thing keeping my slick folds from view. His fingers probe the edge and push under and around and then he’s touching me, skin to skin.

I suck in a sharp inhale and bite back a whimper. His finger makes a filthy squishing noise as he presses the tip of his large digit into my opening. In and out he teases me and my wet lips. Prying my folds apart. Sliding his finger up and down. Exploring my entrance. He presses the tip of his finger inside and grunts.

My body aches as he inserts his finger inside of me, and I hiss at the intrusion. My grasp on his shoulder turns real as he presses and pushes and pumps. Nails digging into his back and side I suck in air through my teeth and go completely still. It worries me that his finger fills me so completely to the point of discomfort as he explores and stretches me.

“So tight,” he says. His finger pumps in and out of me and the ache subsides as the pleasure grows. He works the rest of his hand underneath my wrap and he brushes against my clit as he rubs my folds and fucks that finger deep inside of me.

My body clenches around his finger and I moan before I can stop the sound from escaping.

“D… don’t,” I protest weakly. “Don’t touch me there,” I tell him, silently begging him to touch me there more and again and again.

“This pussy? It’s mine, now,” he says. My clit throbs in excitement at his words.

“This hole? It’s mine to fuck. I own you,” he adds.

We reach the top of the landing and he crosses the room in five strides. His hand disappears from between my legs and then I’m sailing through the air and bouncing on the bed. Atul stands there before me with a pleased look on his face. I watch as he raises his hand to his face. He sniffs the finger that was just inside of me, and then his tongue snakes out and he licks it. I clench my thighs together, my body thrumming as I watch him lick his finger clean and smile.

“Tastes good. Gonna eat you up,” he says.

I stare at him in equal parts of surprise and confusion until he grabs me by the legs and pulls me down to the edge of the bed.

“W… what?” I stutter.

Atul flips my skirts back up and rips my modesty cloth from between my legs. The fabric slides down my knees as he grips my legs and folds them up. Exposing me. My body is on display, my wet folds exposed to the air as he uses my undergarment to tangle my legs together and hold me in place. My legs tremble even as he presses me in half, folding me up and holding me down with the strength of his arms and the weight of his body.

The floorboards creak underneath him as he kneels. His breath fans the junction between my legs and his tongue is wet and warm as he licks me.

“Y… you can’t… lick… m… me… th… there,” I moan as he ignores me and does just that.

His tongue caresses a wet stripe between my legs, parts my folds, and swirls around my clit. My body spasms as he finds my entrance and thrusts his tongue inside, licking me deeper with every press. Throwing my head back I cover my burning face with my hands as he tongues my clit, circling it and strumming it, then pressing the flat of his tongue against it and moving it from side to side.

Tension, coiling tight, thrums through my body as he works me with his tongue and feasts between my legs. His tusks press against my mound. A gentle threat.

“S… stop, please,” I mewl. But I don’t want him to stop. My pleasure swells, a growing thing that threatens to consume me when that wave breaks. His tongue doesn’t stop its assault on me. He licks, and swirls, and flicks my clit. And then his finger is back to pressing inside of my hole. He hooks it inside of me and rubs, touching something deep inside that I’ve never felt before. Everything tightens.

My world explodes. I groan through my release as my walls flutter around his finger and his licking slows to long, and slow caresses.

“So sweet,” he moans against my skin.

I’m limp and boneless on the bed as Atul leans over me and unlaces my dress with one hand. His fingers ghost over my damp slit, spreading my wetness and slicking through my folds. I try to shy from him, too sensitive, but he doesn’t relent.

He works the laces apart and his hand stops its torture between my legs as he pulls me up and tugs the dress off over my head. The modesty wrap that’s pulled down around my knees is next. He slides it from my body, unhooks it from my legs, and tosses it over his shoulder.

I’m naked and completely bare before him now. Vulnerable. My hands itch to cover myself, shield my breasts or shade my curls and slit and his view. His eyes eat me up with a hungry, ravenous gaze. I stare back at him, languid and pleased. Atul’s erection tents the leather of his pants. That hefty, endowed prick. A promise.

While looking me in the eyes he undoes the laces at his hips and pushes his pants down. His cock springs free, a drop of pre-cum already gathered at the tip. He drips a bead of moisture as he slides his pants down and steps out of them. His prick bobs in the air as he steps forward and kneels onto the bed between my thighs.

My legs close of their own accord. An instantaneous reaction to the threat of his sizable erection.

Atul chuckles, his large calloused hand grabbing me by the thigh and spreading me. He pushes my knees apart and crawls forward until the heat of his warm body melts into mine. His cock nudges at my entrance, its tip a constant drip of fluid as he leaks a steady stream of droplets onto my damp curls and aching mound.

“Atul,” I tremble, truly afraid now. He’s big. Far too big to fit into my little body. He will rend me into two. Break me.

“Cyna,” he moans, stretching the syllables out into a prayer. “Just breathe.” He fists his cock in his hand and taps his leaking head against my slit. His head falls back and his eyes slide shut as he rubs himself between my slick folds and bucks, a false thrusting as he pantomimes the act of fucking me without actually entering my body.

His cock rubs against my swollen, sensitive clit and I fall back on my elbows, my stomach clenching at the feeling. Heat grows between my legs again as he rubs against me, pushing his dick between my lower lips as he spreads my wetness up and down and rubs against me.

He leans over me, his body curved around me and heavy. His face bends down into the hollow of my shoulder. The slide of his hand down my stomach startles me until I feel him shift himself, the tip of his penis pressing against my entrance. He sinks the tip inside with one firm push, then stops. “You’re mine, now, wife,” he growls. The sound of it rumbles through my skin and his hips press forward, an insisting press as he slowly buries himself inside of me.

“I… I can’t,” I tell him as I try to push him away. But it’s like trying to move a mountain. He doesn’t budge no matter how much I press against him.

“You will,” he insists, as he covers me completely and pins me to the bed, my legs splayed wide underneath him.

It stings as he forces me to stretch around him. My legs curl around him of their own accord and my hands reach up to grab him. His back, his biceps. Anywhere. It burns. He forces his body deeper into mine. Stretched and full, my cunt struggles to yield to him. I’m spread open and split as Atul sinks his cock deeper and deeper into me until there’s nowhere left for him to go. Filled, he bottoms out inside of me. His balls press against my mound and his tusks slide against my neck as he buries his face in my shoulder.

His hips pull back and he leaves me, his cock dragging out of me as slowly as it pressed inside. And then he cants his hips and surges forward, hitting the end of me in one smooth thrust.

“F… fuck,” I moan.

He kisses the side of my neck and nips my earlobe. My toes curl and I feel my body try to squeeze around his prick as he buries himself inside of me, thrusting and retreating. He builds a steady pace. My body stretches and relaxes at his slow, insistent movements. My eyes squeeze shut and my nails dig into his arms, pressing crescent indentations into his skin. Our bodies slide against each other as his cock spreads my wetness with every thrust. The movements come easier as his dick begins to glide. The stinging eases, replaced by the beginning of pleasure.

“So tight and wet, little human,” he says. “Feels so good.”

I gasp when Atul thrusts forward with a sharp jerk of his hips, the tip of his cock hitting my cervix as he forces himself even deeper. He does it again, his balls slapping against my mound with the force.

My nipples, tight and pointed, rub against his chest as he pins me under him and fucks me. The force of his thrusting slaps our bodies as he fucks me.

Gripping him, holding on, my hips twitch of their own accord. My hips rise to meet him as he buries himself to the hilt and rocks inside of me. So full. He’s touching every bit of space inside my core, filling me. My body melts under him, my legs wrapping around his hips to hold him and trap him there inside. I clench and revel in the ragged sounds he makes. There’s power here, in lying under him. I clench again.

“You ready to get fucked, little human?” he asks, his voice rough and strained.

“You… you’re already f… fucking me,” I answer. And I shift my hips to demonstrate as my body learns how to rock against him as we both seek our pleasure.

Atul pulls back, his body unfurling from mine as he leans back on his knees and sets his hands on either side of my hips. He grins, his eyes glinting with dark promises.

“I’ve barely started.”

His cock withdraws and slams to my hilt. My eyes widen, my hands gripping and digging into him in surprise. I gasp.

Atul does it again. He pulls back and slams home, the force of his thrusts sliding me a little ways up the bed. His pelvis follows me, his cock relentlessly spearing me. The hands at my hip grip, holding me in place as he thrusts, his head lolled back as he grunts. He takes his pleasure from my body. I hold on, focused on taking him. Taking this pounding.

“Too big!” I cry. “You’re too big.” My hands slide down to press against his chest and shove. But again, it’s like trying to move a house. Impossible. His weight is a solid thing above me as he holds me down and fucks into me.

“Take it, little human,” he orders.

His hands on my hips flip me, his cock pulling out of me and sliding back home in an instant as he rolls me onto my stomach and settles between my legs again. He tugs my hips up and pulls me back so that I’m riding his lap, his cock penetrating me even deeper from this new angle.

I grip the sheets, my fingers making claws in the bedding as I press my face into the bed and moan. My hips roll of their own accord, tilting as if they’re seeking more. More friction. More pleasure. My body is no longer my own as I lie there and feel him breaking me and making me anew. Owning me. There’s an orc behind me, plunging his thick, green cock into my pussy. Leaking pre-cum inside of my cunt, a foreshadowing to my future. Breeding me. He’s going to fill me with his seed until I’m heavy with his child.

“Fuck,” I cry, panting. My body spasms and he grunts. His hand leaves my hip to curl around my pelvis. He cards his fingers through my wet curls and brushes my clit. I squeeze him, wringing a moan from his throat. His fucking gets wilder. Rougher. He rides me, pounding his cock into my hungry, fluttering cunt. The fingers on my clit roll, and rub, and swirl.

Pleasure rips through me, building and growing with each pump of his powerful hips. He growls, grunting praises and profanities in equal proportions. The orc fucking me takes his satisfaction from my submission to him.

“Fuck, yeah, fuck me little human,” he goads me onward as he plows me. “Gonna cum… gonna fill you with cum,” he adds. “Gonna breed you.”

The rough and dirty things he says as he fucks me makes my walls clench around him, as if my body is trying to trap him there.

“Y… you can’t,” I grunt, even as I love the things he’s saying. More.

“Gonna fill you with orc babies,” he says. His hips pump faster, his fingers rubbing my clit in rough, bruising circles.

I am thrown onto the precipice of release as he leans over me and puts his mouth next to my ear. His rough growl reverberates through me. My body clenches. “I’m gonna knock you up, little human. Gonna fill you with orc babies. Fuck you real good.”

The tight spiral of need in my belly pulls tight and I balance on that razor thin edge for a moment before finally plunging off that height. My walls flutter and spasm around his cock, and I moan and writhe through my release, my hips bucking as I cum.

“Fuck, fuck, yeah,” he grunts into my ear. “Cum, little human,” he orders.

Too much. It’s too much. And he’s still fucking me. My orgasm stretches to the point of pain, and still he plows me. The head of his dripping cock hits my cervix as he shoves himself deeper and thrusts. Forcing me to lie there and take it. And still, that huge cock takes everything I have and demands even more with every thrust.

Collapsing against the bed I screw my eyes shut and moan as my orc husband continues his assault on my wrung-dry body. He tugs my hips up higher until I’m almost kneeling. His balls swing freely, slapping against the wet lips of my sex as he spreads me wide and takes me.

“Fuck… gonna cum… fill you up until you’re dripping,” he mutters. “Watch that belly grow big and round.”

Atul’s pace doubles, his body stuffing me full as he fucks me. He roars through his release, his hips slowing their assault as he cums and releases his seed inside of me. Wetness seeps down my thighs with every thrust and retreat. His weight is heavy on my back as he leans forward and bucks his hips, pushing his semen in deeper with every spurt of creamy, ropey cum.

We’re panting, both of us equally spent when he tugs me into him and rolls us so that we’re on our sides. We collapse together, a pile of tangled limbs and damp bedding. My eyes flutter open as he presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth and lazily fucks his cock in and out of me.

“Milk me,” he demands. “Squeeze out every drop.”

My walls flutter around him, squeezing, and his hand finds my clit again as he dips his hand between my thighs and slicks his fingers through my messy, cum-soaked folds. I hiss in equal parts enjoyment and pain as he rubs my tender bits and wrings another orgasm from my pleasure-tortured body.

“Mmm… fuck,” he sighs as my cunt spasms and clenches around him in a third, impossible release.

Tired and spent, he slips from my body. Slickness trickles from my core. I reach a hand down and swipe three fingers through the mess we’ve made. My hand comes away covered in cum and arousal. It’s done, then. He’s bred me. Even now I may grow ripe and full with the fruit of this union. His cock has plowed my fields, seeded me, and I may catch with child. An orc baby. Green, and strong. A son.

“Sleep, wife,” my new husband orders as he tugs me into the warmth and comfort of his chest and tucks me into him. It is warm and safe here in his embrace as this monstrous warrior enfolds me in his body and shelters me. My eyelids slide close as I listen to the steady beat of his heart as it slows until it matches mine. We sleep like this, wrapped together.

Chapter Five

Something tickles my nose and I bat it from my face as my eyes crack open. The room looks the same in the morning as it does at night. The softly glowing magik lamps flicker, casting their amber light around the room. The forest beyond this tree house is caught in a constant state of twilight. Only my body’s sense of hunger and need alerts me to the passage of time.

Looking to see what woke me I see that it’s Atul’s hair. It’s pulled free from its mohawk braid, and I brush a strand of it from his face and tuck it behind his small, pointed ear. He looks so different in sleep. Softer. His head rests on the pillow of my breast as he curls around my side, his thigh strung across me as if even in sleep he’s desperate to keep me close. As if he’s scared I’ll run from him.

How he can think such a thing, even subconsciously, is beyond me. Nobody has ever touched me like this before. This intimacy is addicting. Even now, battered inside and sore between my legs, my body craves him. His touch. The press of him inside me. The feel of him, slick and hard, buried deep within me.

I feel wanton and changed now that I know what it’s like to take a man into my body. To have my entrance breached and feel his seed slide from my slit.

Atul cracks an eye open and looks back at me with a soft and sleepy expression. He pulls me tighter, and buries his face in my breast. My back arches when his mouth finds my nipple and he takes it into his mouth. Biting it. I moan.

His hand slides over my hip and curls around my thigh, then slips between my legs and strokes the seam of my folds. I hiss through my teeth at the feel of him as he probes tender, aching flesh.

“Good morning, wife,” he says in between nibbles and kisses on my breast. He takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks. My belly clenches.

“Too sore for me to ride you again?” he asks, his finger easing inside of me.

There’s a sting as he breaches my core, but the pain settles as the heel of his hand presses against my clit and grinds. I arch my back, throwing my head back into the pillow and sighing. He adds a second finger and pumps them slowly in and out. Readying me. He’s going to take me again, going to fuck me. Fill me with more cum and breed me. My pussy throbs around his thrusting fingers. My hips twitch as I seek more. More friction. More fingers. He spreads my cunt wide and fills me with his fingers.

He leans in close, his mouth grazing my jaw. “Fight me, wife. You’ll have to earn this fucking,” he challenges.

“Hmm?” I ask, my thoughts still muddled with sleep and pleasure as my body clenches around his hand’s intrusion.

“Priest, yes? Fight me. Show me that fire,” he growls. Atul’s hand stops its pleasuring as he stills before me and waits.

My pulse ratchets up, my heart beating in my chest as I take his meaning. If I want him to fuck me, then I’m going to have to work for this morning. Earn this by resisting him. It’s a continuation of the beginnings of last night’s game. Excitement leaps through me.

I twist my hips, trying to unseat his hand from between my legs. Those fingers, slick and strong, twist through my folds and swipe against my slit. I buck again, kicking at him. He finds my clit and rubs, his other arm coming up to pin my shoulder down.

My teeth find his shoulder and I bite. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that even an orc with thick skin will feel it. He flips me onto my stomach and spanks me, his hand leaving my throbbing pussy to slap against my ass.

Angry that he’s no longer rubbing my clit I kick at him. He catches my leg by the ankle and tugs me down the bed, rolling me again so that I’m on my side. He pins my legs so that they’re open and presses his mouth against mine. My body stills against his kiss as his tongue licks the seam of my mouth. I open, greedy for the taste of him. My legs curl around him, trying to pull him into the hollow of my hips. He sighs into my mouth and stops. His hand glides down my belly and he slaps my cunt.

“Ow!” I yell, surprised. My knees try to close, but his body has them pinned open.

He laughs against my mouth. “I said fight,” he growls.

Incensed and outraged I shove his shoulders up and try to throw him off of me. He’s heavy and damned near immovable. But that doesn’t stop me from trying. I knee him, trying to catch his cock and balls as I shove at his shoulders and scream with frustration.

His eyes twinkle in the lamplight as he grins down at me, his teeth and tusks on full display as I flail at him.

“Get off me!” I yell. I twist at the hips, trying to dislodge him. My hands beat at his chest and try to shove him off, with no effect. He catches them in one hands and pins them above me. My torso stretches with the movement, my breasts falling to either side. He leans over me, his mouth hovering over mine as he pins me to the bed and taunts me with his body. With his cock and his mouth. Both hover just out of reach.

“You can do better than that,” he goads.

“Son of a bitch,” I curse. I wiggle in his hold and huff, as if I’m giving in at being caught.

Atul chuckles and makes to rise to his knees while still bending over me. I take advantage of his small moment of distraction. Bringing my knee up I slam the heel of my foot against his chest and kick him hard. He grunts at the impact and grabs me by the ankle again, bending my leg back and opening me to him. His attention wavers to my pink, wet slicked folds.

I wrap my leg around his neck and roll to the side. He’s so surprised at the movement that I manage to actually get him onto his back before he can recover. Tumbling together I land on top, my sex just above his as I sit on his lap and grind us together. A fucking conquest, and I’m the winner. Power rushes through my veins.

My orc husband grunts and lets me take my small victory as I gain the upper hand. His prick grows hard and thick between my folds. My fingers curl on his chest and I dig my nails into his skin and rub. His swelling erection slides between my wet folds. I want him inside of me. It amazes me that already I feel addicted to this. To these sensations. To him. I throw my head back and ride, all the time feeling like a glorious warrior goddess.

He tosses me to the side and covers me, pinning me to the bed. Atul repositions me, bringing my arm around and pinning it to the small of my back until I can’t move. Trapped. His legs nudge my own open. His pelvis rocks against my ass, his erection pressing against my body. I try to close my legs, to shut him out, but he works my thighs open and puts his knee between mine so that I’m stuck. Pinned. Dominated.

“That was an amusing effort,” he mocks me.

I growl at him, but this only makes him chuckle harder.

He rubs against my back, his cock sliding through my folds. With my arm pinned to my back he works my other arm around until he grips both wrists in one of his large hands. My hips writhe from side to side as I try to nudge him off of me. Evading him. Even though my body yearns for his touch. My walls clamp, empty and hungry around nothing.

With both arms pinned to my back in one of his hands he pulls my hips up so that I’m kneeling on the bed with my ass in the air.

Lining the head of his cock up to my entrance he notches himself and slides inside in one hard thrust.

I grunt, my pussy clamping down as if trying to squeeze him from me. Twisting my head to the side so I can breathe he presses my face and shoulders down harder as he begins to thrust inside of me. I’m stretched and opened, my body submitting to him even as I curse him and mumble profanities with every thrust.

Atul stops his movements, and my hips press back. Searching for more. Wanting.

“Ride my cock, little human,” he orders.

“Go fuck yourself,” I snap back, angry that he’s stopped.

He chuckles and holds us both still. Punishing me. His grip on my wrists never lets up as he pins me down and tortures me with his lack of movement. Locked in a stalemate I pout and clench my jaw with impatience.

“No… I don’t think so, little human. I give the orders here, not you. Ride my cock, or I’ll leave you unhappy and unsatisfied. I seeded you enough last night to fulfill my obligations to the clan. Anything else is for pleasure.”

Recognizing that he’s serious, that he’ll stop mid-fuck and leave me hanging, I cave. I’m desperate for orc cock, hungry to feel him batter at my cervix and flood my womb. The desire to be stretched and fucked is all-consuming. My body tenses around him as I find my balance on my knees and sink backwards. I fuck myself on his cock, pressing back until he’s seated deep inside, then roll forward until he’s nearly popped free.

Atul grunts as I set a steady pace, taking him to my hilt and rolling my hips with each connection as I press back until he’s as deep as he can go.

“Good…” he moans, his hands tight on my wrists as he pins me down underneath him. “Now faster.”

Rolling my hips and tilting my pelvis I push back, snapping him to the hilt so fast and hard that our flesh slaps together. My wet lips suck at his hard cock greedily. The sounds of our fucking fill the room, a filthy, wet churning. Stretched tight. Fucked deep. It’s bliss.

He grunts and shifts his hold so that he’s got me caught by the bicep. Atul pulls my body back and down with every thrust as I sink onto his cock and ride him faster, harder, deeper.

“Fuck… yeah. Fuck me, human,” he says.

“Fucking orc,” I growl.

He snaps his hips forward and my pussy clenches around him.

“F… fucking orc c… cock,” I add, spurred on by his reaction to my foul mouth and attitude.

His hips buck against me as he starts to fuck me again. We slap against one another, an angry joining. “Gonna cum in you, human,” he warns me. “Knock you up. How do you like this orc cock fucking you?”

My cunt squeezes him. Pushing him out. Pulling him in deeper. And still he fucks me. Atul sets a harsh pace even as I rise to meet him, pushing back with every one of his thrusts. We fuck one another like a pair of rutting beasts.

“D… don’t you dare cum,” I warm him. Not yet. Not before I’ve found my own release.

Atul hauls me up by my arms and holds me tight, presses me against his chest and cages me in his arms. His chest is flush to my back as he picks me up like it’s not even a strain for him. And it’s not. My orc warrior is strong. My knees barely touch the bed in this position.

He bounces me on his cock, fucking into my hole as he holds me above him. Using me to stroke his cock.

“You don’t give me orders, human,” he snarls in my ear.

My body clenches as he chides me. Holds me tight. Uses my cunt like he used his hand. He strokes his cock with my sheath as he holds me immobile.

“Fuck you,” I tell him, angry that he’s slowed the pace to something steady and lazy.

His arm is a vice as he bands me across the chest and pins my arms to my sides. His other hand threads into my wild, tangled curls and he makes a fist. My hair pulls at the root as he grabs me by the hair and pulls my head back. Pain blooms in my scalp. My head is tugged back until our eyes meet.

Atul’s cock presses into me, slow and steady, as he fucks me gently and stares me down. His eyes are a brilliant mix of green and gold, and they shine in the lamplight.

“Beg me, human. Beg me to fuck you with this orc cock.”

I whimper, my pussy gripping him. Urging him to go faster. His pace never alters. He fucks me slow and lazy as if he can do this for hours. This punishment. I consider resisting just for a moment before I cave. My pulse beats in time with my clit, a furious bounding tempo between my legs as my body yearns for release. For him.

“P… please,” I beg, hesitant at the shame of asking for such a thing.

He makes a show of hemming and hawing as his thrusts grow lazier and fainter until he’s barely inside of my tight, hot body at all. The head of his cock rubs at my entrance, a teasing promise.

“P… please… Atul… please f… fuck me. H… harder. Need… w… want it,” I add.

He lets go of my hair and shoves me back down face first onto the bed and pulls me up on my hands and knees. I kneel before him, open and exposed, as he settles behind me on his knees. His hands grab me by the hip. And still he doesn’t join us together. My body is weeping, my pussy hungry for him. For his cock.

“Atul…” I whine. “Pl… please… please fuck me.”

He pulls his cock free from my body completely and puts his hand there. His fingers spread my lips apart and drag teasingly over my clit. He rubs that tiny, sensitive nub in circles before pressing a finger deep inside of me.

“Like this? Is this what you want, human?” he asks as his finger begins to fuck me, pressing deep and grinding. Stretching me and filling me. But it’s not enough. It’s not a cock.

I mewl and press back on his hand, riding it even if it’s not what I want. Not what my body craves.

“Y… your cock,” I relent. “I want your cock. Please.”

His hand withdraws, and the blunt head of his engorged penis replaces it. He nudges my entrance, sliding in with the mixture of pre-cum and slick that eases his path. I’m so wet and hot and needy. But still, he doesn’t fuck me. Doesn’t move. I make a sound of frustration, then growl when he chuckles.

“And what do you want this poor, stupid orc to do with his cock?” he asks as he teases my entrance with the head of his penis. “Beg, human.”

“F… fuck me, orc. Pl… please,” I whimper and beg. “Please fuck me with that big, green c… cock. Please, I want to cum. Want you to cum in me. I want to cum on that big, green cock.”

He thrusts, rocking me on my hands and knees with the force of it.

My body sings and my pleasure spirals, tightening deeper and deeper with every thrust as he finally, finally fucks me. Fills me. Stretches me wide.

“Dirty orc-loving slut,” he says. My cunt throbs as he fucks me, saying horrible things that should shame me. Except that I enjoy it. I flutter around him with every thrust and filthy thing that comes from his mouth.

“Dirty little slutty human, enjoying an orc cock in your pussy,” Atul says.

Dirty, nasty, filthy. Shame and satisfaction circle hand in hand as I spasm around his cock and rock forward with every thrust. He mounts me, fucking me and breeding me. Hitting a spot inside of me my pleasure grows with every thrust. Close. So close, now. I would say anything, agree to anything he demanded, just to cum right now. Desperate.

“I’m going to cum, going to fill this little human pussy full of so much orc seed,” he threatens. His hands tug my hips backward with every thrust. His cock bashes against my cervix on every seating. My hands fist in the bedding. My pussy clenches around him as I moan. So close. Almost there. My orgasm flutters before me like a tease as Atul fucks me. Mounts me like a dog. Breeds me.

“Gonna knock you up and fill that belly full of orc babies,” he says.

My orgasm washes me away with it as I cry out and spasm, fluttering and clenching around him. His pace never stutters or stops. Instead he pounds into me, forcing me to fuck him through my release. My cunt milks him, desperate for him to cum as well. Hungry for his sperm. Needing it.

With a battle cry Atul cums, his hips jerking forward to shoot his seed right at my cervix as he fucks his cock in and out of me with his release. Hot rivulets of arousal and cum leak between my sloppy-wet folds and trickle down my thigh. Thick streams of fluid seeps from my body as he thrusts the last of his cum into me and shudders.

We’re both panting, sated and spent, when Atul collapses on my back and presses me into the bed. His weight is heavy yet comforting as he holds me tight to him and twines us together.

He makes happy noises against my hair as he nuzzles me and presses a kiss to my neck. “Hmm… now that is the right way to wake up,” he announces.

As my orc husband holds me close I can’t help but agree.

I can’t wait to wake up like this every morning. My face stretches into a satisfied smile as my body clenches in little after-shocks and more seed drips down my thighs.

Lazy, fulfilled, and spent we curl into each other’s arms and rest.

Books by this Author

The Lupercalia

Amara should be frightened when she's chosen as this year's Lupercalia offering. Her virginal sacrifice is meant to appease Faunus, her tiny village's patron forest god.

But instead of fear, her body is alive with anticipation. Rumors abound about the forest god who demands pleasure instead of the usual tithe of crops, or cattle. Some of the previous year's offerings have said he's fanged and tailed like a cat. Others liken him to a deer, or a goat, or even a great, white wolf. No two stories are alike.

One thing is certain, she can't wait to see him for herself because she's finally been chosen.

Equirria

The centaurs are both formidable and magnificent as they celebrate Equirria and honor Mars, the god of war, with wrestling matches and a brutal race for dominance amongst their herd. Sweat glistens along their muscles and furred flanks as they grapple. Their great bodies clash and collide as they fight in their mock-battles and seek to conquer one another. But only one can win. 

Amara feels her body stir as she watches them alongside her lover, Faunus, the forest god. They’re magnificent. Sublime. Their strong legs trample the earth and their enemies as they run and spar. She can’t take her eyes off of them. 

And when the winner comes to collect his boon, Amara discovers that she’s meant to be this year’s prize. As her master commands, she obeys. Even if the massive centaur intimidates her just as much as he intrigues her.

Floralia

Fertile, lush, and growing.

Spring has come. Tender green leaves burst forth and flowers unfurl their delicate petals to soak up the warm, glowing sunshine and breathe new life into the Earth. The seasons change as Spring arrives in full force inside of Faunus’ woods and the land erupts with possibilities, and newness. 

Amara is bathed, groomed, dressed, and prepared for the Floralia festival. Faunus has left her, insisting that they must remain apart from sunrise to sunset while he conserves his energies for the evening ceremonies. And yet she knows almost nothing about the festival or what will be expected of her. Its tradition has been lost over time among her people. 

One thing is certain, she knows that she can’t wait to be reunited with her master.

Sacrificed to the Forest God: A Steamy Monster Romance Bundle

Sacrificed, then owned, and now bred. Amara, burning with hidden desires for the strange and unusual, volunteered to be her village's virgin sacrifice at the Lupercalia. She pledged herself to Faunus, the god of the forest. Owned, she obeys his every whim with adoration, affection, and unbridled enjoyment. In giving herself completely to another, she's finally freed.

Sacrificed to the Forest God is a bundle set of short stories featuring Amara and Faunus, the god of the forest. It contains The Lupercalia, Equirria, Floralia, and a never before published epilogue. The bundle is approximately 32K in length and features hot and heavy scenes of fantastical romance with themes of BDSM with bestial love interests. It is intended for mature 18+ readers only.

About the Author

Tara lives in New York with her wife, stepson, and a small horde of furry beings who continuously try to trip her down the stairs at two o'clock in the morning. When she's not stepping around and over two dogs and two cats she can be found drinking iced tea (because you can leave the south but the south never leaves you) while drawing, reading, and writing about naughty aliens and monsters. With over a decade of experience in the BDSM community she considers herself something of a connoisseur of shibari knots and edge play. She loves all things that go bump in the night.

Join Tara on Facebook in Tara Phillip’s Little Monsters for more monster boyfriend content, sneak peaks, previews, art, and more!

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